


Schism

by hsvh



Series: Doppelgängers [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Coming of Age, Death Eaters, F/M, Good Slytherins, Healthy Relationships, No Horcruxes, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 118,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hsvh/pseuds/hsvh
Summary: AU, post-OOTP. Although a fellow Slytherin in Draco Malfoy’s year, Dagmar Ramstad doesn’t have much to do with him. He brings her some news on the last day of their sixth year that changes the course of both their lives.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s)
Series: Doppelgängers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652104
Comments: 38
Kudos: 63





	1. The Hesitant Slytherin

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first book of a five-part series. I originally wrote this story before Half-Blood Prince came out, but decided it was time to give it an honest shot now that I've grown as a writer.
> 
> The AU part of it is that there were no arrests of Death Eaters made in the Ministry at the end of Order of the Phoenix. While events from HBP are mentioned, such as Slughorn being the Potions professor and Snape teaching DADA, the overarching plot didn't happen because Voldemort is up to something else. Horcruxes are not a thing, and the Deathly Hallows is disregarded entirely. It uses the concept of arranged marriages, in the sense that the more traditional pureblood families try to keep their bloodlines pure (although still require consent). 
> 
> I prefer to write sex-positive, healthy relationships in an inclusive environment.
> 
> This story also has OCs, but I have a general personal rule that I will never write an OC if a canon character suits the role better. 

The late June sun streamed in through the History of Magic classroom windows, where a Hogwarts student named Dagmar Ramstad wrote her sixth year final exam. Despite the smothering heat and vague smell of body odour, she focused on the cramped writing that crept ever-closer to the bottom of her parchment. Students had been slowly filing out for the past half-hour, handing their scrolls in to Professor Binns on their way past. At the end, the only student left other than Dagmar was Hermione Granger. 

“Time is up,” Professor Binns said in his usual droning voice at the front of the classroom. “I’ll take those.” 

Dagmar’s scroll rolled up by its own accord and flew to the front, along with Hermione’s. Feeling as though she’d done all that she could, Dagmar gathered up her quill and ink well. The quill ended up in the classroom bin, spent. 

Hermione stood out in the hallway, exam questions still in her hand. 

“So what did you write down for fourteen B?” she asked, falling into step beside Dagmar. “I couldn’t remember all the countries that partook in the Doppelgänger Genocides.”

“Britain,” Dagmar answered with the easiest one first. “Norway and Sweden, then Germany, Finland, and Russia.”

“Russia?” Hermione blinked. “Are you sure? I thought there was only five countries.”

“Norway and Sweden were the same country at the time,” Dagmar said, although she doubted herself now. “Still, messing up one won’t affect your mark too much, right?”

Those words were little comfort to Hermione, who looked with pressed lips in direction of the library. Curious herself, Dagmar started them that way. 

A strange feeling came over Dagmar that she and Hermione weren’t alone. She heard the echo of footsteps stop when she turned around to face the way they had come from. A heel disappeared behind a corner. Frowning, Dagmar carried on. Since Hermione didn’t seem to notice, Dagmar didn’t say anything about it. It was most likely just someone passing by, or perhaps one of the ghosts. 

Something jabbed Dagmar in the back of the head when she and Hermione reached the other end of the corridor. Her hand shot up. Dagmar looked around the air before her gaze dropped to the floor. A piece of parchment folded up like an aeroplane laid at her feet. 

Hermione stopped too. “What’s that?” 

“Dunno. Just hit me.” 

Dagmar picked it up and unfolded it. It only had two words in a messy hand: _Common room._

“Hm.” Dagmar slipped it into her pocket. “I guess I’ll see you later. Find me if you figure out if Russia was in on the Genocides, ja?” 

“Oh—yeah.” With reminder of her initial goal, Hermione took a step on and raised a hand. “See you around.” 

Dagmar headed back in the direction she’d come from. She had a feeling that whoever had sent this note would be the same person she’d spotted hiding behind the corridor corner. She took it wide and stopped when she saw Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall with his arms folded. He studied her with pale grey eyes. 

“Your note, or were you passing on a message?” Dagmar asked. 

“Mine,” Draco replied. “I was waiting outside the classroom to catch you. You took the entire time?”

“Didn’t realize I should rush.”

Draco idly nodded, gaze averted. A silence fell between them, in which Dagmar twirled her fingers around a pleat in her school skirt. She and Draco were the same age, in the same house, and their families were quite close—but they never had been. 

“You wanted me in the common room?” Dagmar asked. “Why?” 

“Need to talk to you.” Draco unfolded his arms and jerked his head toward the front of the castle. 

That he was so subdued put Dagmar on edge. Draco tended to sulk and turn into a recluse on his own. He was cordial with her in passing out of respect for their parents. His head, while held as high as usual, was used more to keep an eye out for anybody that might approach this section of the castle. 

Dagmar assumed they were heading for the Slytherin common room, so stumbled to a halt when Draco put out an arm to stop her. 

“Over here should be fine.” He pointed at a nook. 

Dagmar followed him with waning enthusiasm. 

“I don’t like how you’re acting.” She stood at the mouth of the nook. “You’re making me nervous.” 

Draco leaned against the wall again. “My mum passed me a message from yours to give you. Your parents were going to meet you on the train platform tomorrow?” 

Dagmar nodded warily. 

“Change of plans.” Draco cleared his throat. “You’re coming with me instead.” 

Dagmar’s face scrunched up by its own accord. “Where?” 

“My manor, I assume.” Draco shrugged. “That’s where I was going.”

“Why?” 

“My mum didn’t say.” 

“So. . .we get off the train, and then what?” 

“Apparate,” Draco said. “I passed my test earlier this month.” 

Dagmar eyed him with renewed wariness. “Have you apparated since your test?” 

Draco smirked. “Nope.” 

“My parents must be desperate then. I wonder what’s going on that they can’t be there themselves?” 

Draco didn’t say anything when Dagmar turned to leave. She came to a halt, head bowed, then faced him again. Sure enough, Draco’s lips worked in thought. When he noticed her looking, they came to rest and he reassumed a passive expression. 

Dagmar stepped back into the nook and lowered her voice. “What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything.” One of Draco’s eyebrows rose. “My mum only said—”

“Bollocks. Your parents tell you everything.”

Draco pursed his lips, a rare habit but one Dagmar witnessed on the sparse occasion he cared enough to hide a smirk. “I don’t think you want to spend your last day at Hogwarts worrying about it.”

“My last—?”

“I don’t mean ever,” Draco hastily said with a roll of his eyes when Dagmar’s widened in alarm. “Just relax.”

“Tell me what you know,” Dagmar demanded. “If _you_ know, then I have a right to, too.”

Draco raised his chin in better attempt to look down at her, even though they were the same height. “Is that so?”

“Are you serious right now?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s not my news to tell.”

“So then why tell me all this now, when I have to agonize over it until tomorrow?”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you on the train.” Draco peered down the corridor when he heard something, but nobody was actually there. “I didn’t think you’d take to me pulling you away from the sorts you sit with. Based on what’s going on, you wouldn’t want to be too closely associated with me. Or, maybe, _I_ wouldn’t want to be too closely associated with _you_.”

A lurch of annoyance pulled like a hook in Dagmar’s stomach. She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, you’ve lorded enough. Tell me what’s happened.”

“The Ministry raided your manor.”

Dagmar twitched as if her nerves had been strung like a bow. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They can’t have found anything?”

“They must have. It sounds serious.” 

For all his arrogance, no hint of it showed on Draco right now. He’d turned properly solemn to match this news with a hint of relief underneath it. Surely he was glad it wasn’t _his_ family caught up in this. 

“So, what now?” Dagmar’s eyes grew heavy. “Are my parents okay? Did the Ministry take them?”

“No,” Draco quickly said. “They’re fine. Mum said that they’re both at our manor.” 

“Then. . .what? What do they do?”

“Mum mentioned something about damage control.” Draco shrugged. “That’s really all I know.” 

Dagmar was grateful that Draco at least waited until after her last exam to pass along this information. She wouldn’t be able to study with it on her mind, and she certainly wouldn’t have been able to focus while sitting through another one. The idea of leaving this conversation and catching up to Hermione in the library was out of the question. Hermione was in with the people that most prominently opposed You-Know-Who. Would she somehow learn about this through them? Had Dagmar’s parents’ quiet support of You-Know-Who—and perhaps even their presence in his inner circle—suddenly been exposed?

“Right.” Draco pushed off the wall. “I suppose you want to get back to the mudblood. I’m sure she’ll take your mind off things.”

He stepped past Dagmar, leaving her alone in the nook. Draco wasn’t much for company, but he at least understood what Dagmar was currently dealing with. Nobody that she associated with would. Such was the pitfall of not associating with fellow children of Death Eaters. Reaching out to Draco—or Crabbe, Goyle, or Theodore—was about as impossible as any of Dagmar’s friends. 


	2. Malfoy Manor

Dagmar opened her eyes to see the same ceiling as she always did in this recurring dream. Moonlight cast into the room she laid in, creating long shadows across the floor.

It wasn’t the light that woke Dagmar up within the dream. A noise came through the wall that the bed she was laying in was pushed up against. It was an erratic noise, loud and then quiet, but always high-pitched. Occasionally, a hiss would interrupt it. 

Curious, Dagmar slipped off the bed. It was bigger than a normal bed, which made for a short fall. The whole house was like that. Dagmar had to reach up to pull open the room’s door. She came out into a hallway, and here was where the reoccurring dream transitioned into a nightmare. A sick feeling came over her as if she was doing something she shouldn’t be. Each step toward the other room took a tremendous effort. 

The slightly agape door opened in front of Dagmar’s fingers as if by its own will. Dagmar hated when this happened. That meant that—yes, the man faced her. Dagmar looked up. Before she could see his face in the shadow, she started awake for real. 

Dagmar’s heart pounded in her chest. Her breathing had turned heavy, sweat glued her to her sheets, and she trembled slightly. Sunlight reached the subterranean dormitory through the shallows of the lake, shimmering as its current passed by the window that kept the water at bay. 

“Oh good, she’s awake,” came Pansy Parkinson’s voice. “I’m looking forward to two months without having to listen to that.” 

Cheeks burning on top of everything else, Dagmar pressed her face into her pillow. On the other side of the room, Millicent’s heavy chuckle could be heard followed by a mocking moan. The giggling worsened and failed to taper off as Dagmar pulled open the curtain around her bed. She didn’t look at Pansy, Millicent, or Daphne on her way to the loo. 

Pansy sat on the end of her bed with a broad grin when Dagmar returned. “Hey, Ramstad.” 

“What?” Dagmar replied as she put her slightly-damp sleeping clothes into her trunk. She’d packed last night in attempt to avoid any kind of encounter like this. 

“I know how you could stop having dreams like that.” 

Dagmar didn’t respond. She slipped on her shoes and bent down to tie them as fast as she could. 

“Get a boyfriend,” Pansy said. “ _He’d_ work that out of you.”

Millicent and Daphne giggled again. Dagmar let her hair fall in front of her face to hide it, the blonde strands brushing against the dungeon floor. When she was done tying her shoes, she levitated her trunk and headed for the exit. 

“We’re only joking, Dagmar,” Daphne called after her. Dagmar didn’t care about the regret in her voice. 

How Dagmar woke up from her recurring nightmares was bad enough. That her dorm-mates misinterpreted any noise only made it worse. Dagmar’s general lack of a social life within Slytherin house made her an easy target.

Dagmar carried on past the Great Hall and out of the castle. Other students emerged at their leisure and used the carriages to take them down to Hogsmeade Station. A couple of the carriages were returning up the drive. 

To Dagmar’s relief, she recognized a couple of the waiting students. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood stood together, their trunks both set down on the ground. Ginny smiled when she saw Dagmar approach and Luna, although they were well-acquainted, always seemed to look at Dagmar as if she was a new figment in her vision’s setting. 

“Mind if I ride down with you?” Dagmar asked. 

“Sure!” 

Ginny had pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Dagmar was regretting having not done the same while she still had her trunk open and access to her hair ties. Her neck grew warm under the weight of hers.

“So how were your exams?” Ginny asked. “The OWLs were rough, even with all the warning from you and Hermione.” 

“My exams went well, I think. Is it a good sign I’m looking forward to the owl that’ll deliver my marks?”

“Wouldn’t you anyway?” 

Dagmar chuckled. “I suppose, just to get any possible bad news over with as soon as possible.” 

“I think I at least snagged As on all my OWLs,” Ginny said.

“I’m sure you did just fine.” Dagmar turned to Luna. “And how about you?”

While Luna hemmed and hawed, more students flowed out of the castle. Amongst them was Pansy, who walked with Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini. The first four ignored Dagmar, but Blaise lowered his chin as a makeshift nod when their eyes met. Dagmar raised her hand with a polite smile. 

“He’s pretty decent, isn’t he?” Ginny asked, having caught the exchange. 

“He’s all right.” Dagmar shrugged. 

“He gets more handsome by the day,” Ginny said, her voice closer to a whisper as her gaze followed him past. “Pity he’s a Slytherin.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Ginny turned wide eyes to Dagmar, who merely elbowed her. 

“I guess I should say pity he hangs out with Malfoy,” Ginny revised her statement as a carriage came to a stop in front of them. 

Out the corner of her eye, Dagmar spotted Draco eyeing the carriage. Beside him, Pansy goaded him to no reaction to try and take it over. With a sigh that heaved his shoulders, Draco looked off in another direction as if he either didn’t see the carriage or hadn’t heard her. Pansy’s nose wrinkled and she crossed her arms. 

“Are they always like that?” Ginny asked Dagmar.

“More or less.” 

Dagmar climbed into the carriage after her levitating trunk. Even though she had her own quibbles with members of her house, she tried to avoid putting them down as often as possible. 

Ginny knew to drop the topic once it’d been acknowledged. Their conversation strayed to other things as the carriage started off toward the school gates. Summer plans came up, a topic Dagmar knew would be pointless to try avoiding. Although she now had no real idea what her summer would consist of, she maintained previously discussed plans about her trip to France with her parents. 

They arrived at the train early enough to not have to fight for a compartment. A couple Ravenclaw second-years that recognized Dagmar from study hall politely asked if they could sit in with them closer to eleven o’clock. Ginny’s friends from Gryffindor tried to squeeze in, but there wasn’t enough room. Soon enough, they were on their way. The mountains outside started to level off in height. 

About halfway to London, while the second-years had a loud game of Exploding Snap and Luna had disappeared behind an issue of The Quibbler, Ginny tapped Dagmar with her toe. 

“That’s about the fifth time I’ve seen Malfoy walk by,” she said. “He keeps looking in here. What’s he up to?”

“How would I know?” Dagmar shrugged, looking over at the second-years. He probably would’ve loved to bully them, but without his usual entourage, he might not have the courage to try it in front of anyone too close to his age. 

Then again, it could have something to do with her. He probably wanted to know where she was, to make sure he’d find her later. 

London was in view. When the train arrived at King’s Cross and their compartment emptied out, Dagmar intentionally let Ginny and Luna lose her in the crowd. If Dagmar ran into anyone else she knew, she’d just say that her parents were running late on meeting her. On the station platform, she intentionally picked a place on the opposite end from the apparation ports. She kept an eye out for Draco, and her stomach flopped when their gazes met. He followed her suit when he came over, lingering and waiting at a decent enough distance. 

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, facing straight. “This is pretty ridiculous.”

“Only have yourself to thank,” Dagmar replied. “So rotten, not even members of your own house want to be seen with you.”

Draco didn’t reply. When Dagmar looked at him, he was smirking. Amused or proud, Dagmar couldn’t tell. 

The station platform thinned out. Dagmar swept it over with her gaze and, when satisfied that nobody she considered a friend remained, addressed Draco by name. He looked at her finally, then levitated his trunk along toward the apparation point. Because Dagmar still had to pull hers, Draco caught up easily and let their trunks bump each other with every other step. 

“Either learn how to do a Levitation Charm properly, or don’t use it at all,” Dagmar said.

“Whatever.” Draco backed off anyway.

Dagmar stopped just shy of where they could apparate. “So you’re going to do your trunk, and then come back for me?”

“We could do it all at once.”

“ _Can_ you?” Dagmar asked. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You would think, since my family has graciously offered to help straighten things out for yours, you would show some manners.”

“Hard to show manners if you leave my head behind.” 

Draco pursed his lips. “You ready, or what?”

“I guess,” Dagmar sighed. 

Draco offered his free arm to her. Dagmar wrapped her hand around the upper part of it, above his elbow. Just when she made to open her mouth again and ask what he was waiting for, Dagmar’s ability to breathe temporarily stopped. The air sucked out from her lungs and, when she and Draco appeared on Malfoy Manor’s front portico, left her gasping. She checked for all her body parts. 

“You’re fine,” Draco curtly said. 

Dagmar made to grab her trunk again—she’d dropped her handle—but it levitated over by Draco’s. Their gazes met before Draco opened the manor house door and held it while Dagmar and their trunks passed through. 

The paintings hanging on the foyer walls had changed, but everything else remained the same since the last time Dagmar was here. A curved staircase headed up to the second floor. Sliding doors to Dagmar’s right were open to the library. Ahead, through an arch and across the hallway, was the great room where Dagmar had spent all of the functions she attended. It looked bigger than usual, since it wasn’t full of people.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy sat there. Mrs. Malfoy stood up, smoothing her robes down where they had wrinkled through the motion. 

“The kids are here,” she said. 

Dagmar’s parents appeared from deeper in the room, where the fireplace was. The thought had visited Dagmar a couple times on her way back from Hogwarts that by the time she made it to London, her parents’ situation may have changed and she might be receiving news that they’d been placed in Azkaban. 

Tentative relief washed over Dagmar as she embraced her mum. Her mum ran her fingers through Dagmar’s hair affectionately before letting Dagmar’s dad give her a one-armed hug and kiss on the cheek. On the other side of the room, Mrs. Malfoy gave Draco a similar treatment. He looked annoyed as she glanced him over with a concerned expression. Draco waved her off, cheeks pink. Mr. Malfoy kept his distance, but gave his son a nod and smirk. 

“Could you not, when we have guests?” Dagmar heard Draco say to his mum under his breath. She tried to smooth his hair down. 

“So what’s going on?” Dagmar asked when her parents had eased off along with Mrs. Malfoy on Draco. “Why couldn’t you meet me on the platform? And why are we here?”

Her parents’ smiles turned wooden—stressed. When they wouldn’t say anything, Dagmar raised her eyebrows as prompt. Mr. Malfoy cleared his throat. 

“Frankly, I’m a little surprised Draco didn’t tell you.” Mr. Malfoy’s gaze traveled to his son, who lowered his eyes in turn. “It’s a manageable situation, first of all. If anything was going to come of it, we would know by now. The Ministry performed a surprise raid on your family’s manor.” 

“I don’t think we have any artefacts that would get us in any trouble.” Dagmar looked at her parents.

“The Dark Lord happened to be there at the time, and was spotted,” Mr. Malfoy said, turning Dagmar’s stomach to ice. “The Ministry has inquired upon the team, but as there is no evidence they actually reached your manor, they are currently investigating what may have happened along the way there.” 

Dagmar didn’t hear anything in there that implicated her parents. “So why can’t we go home?” 

“We’re allowing the Ministry to search the manor as a gesture of good faith,” her mum said. “It should take the better part of the summer.”

“We’ll be in France anyway,” Dagmar said. “Right?” 

Her parents looked at each other. They didn’t have to say anything for Dagmar to deflate with disappointment. She’d braced herself for this possibility, but facing it still sucked. 

“So what, then? We’re just staying here?” Dagmar asked. Aware Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy looked at her, she hastily added, “Not that I don’t appreciate the hospitality. But why does that mean we can’t go to Nice like we planned? I’ve been looking forward to it since Christmas.” 

“The Ministry has requested that we remain in the area in case they have any questions, or if they find something incriminating,” her dad said. “Which they won’t, but we must fully comply if we don’t want to draw any extra unwanted attention to the situation.” 

Her mum squeezed Dagmar’s shoulder. “We’re disappointed too.” 

Having been tempted for the duration of the conversation, Dagmar switched the language they spoke from English to Norwegian. “I wanted to come of-age in France.”

“I know you did.” Her mum kept on in English, her eyes boring into Dagmar. “And please speak English in front of our hosts. We don’t want to be rude.” 

Dagmar pursed her lips. 

“Your disappointment is understandable.” Mrs. Malfoy folded her hands in front of her. “We do hope that you’ll make yourself comfortable. Lucius and I will help your family however we can.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t want my parents in trouble.” 

“None of us do,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Nor does the Dark Lord. He always takes care of those who are loyal to him.” 

Dagmar ignored the twinge at her conscience that that included her parents. More so, that she was grateful in the moment to You-Know-Who for handling this. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. 

“Draco,” Mr. Malfoy addressed him, who had taken to inspecting his fingernails. “Would you show Dagmar to her room? She’ll be taking the guest suite at the east end. While you’re at it, show her where the west suite is. Her parents have taken that one.” 

“Yes, Father.” Draco levitated their trunks again and moved them back toward the foyer. 

Dagmar followed him up the curved staircase in the foyer, the marble banister cool under her hand. At the top of the landing, Draco dropped his trunk and continued with Dagmar’s to the right. Around a corner to the left stood a lone door. Draco opened it and led her in. 

“This is it,” he said. “Doesn’t look like you got any of your stuff.” 

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed. “I don’t know what they expect me to wear all summer at the very least. Honestly.” 

The white walls were embellished with silver and gold. The bedspread was scarlet, as well as the rest of the furniture. A pleasant surprise met Dagmar in the closet. She did have her clothes. She also had her own bathroom, carrying through. 

She expected that Draco would’ve left her to it, but he lingered when she returned to the main part of the room. He leaned against the wall by the door with his arms crossed, looking bored. His wand stuck out of his trouser pocket. 

“Might as well give you the quick tour,” he said. “You’ve never been upstairs before, have you?” 

Dagmar shook her head.

“Come on, then.” 

Dagmar followed him out of the room. They rounded the corner back to the stairs landing, where Draco picked up his trunk again. He opened the next door on the left and let it drop inside. 

“That’s my room,” he said. Across the hall from it was the second set of stairs that led down into the dining room. Dagmar and Draco carried on down the hallway and stopped at the end where it forked either left or right. Draco pointed to the right, “Your parents—” he pointed to the left, “and mine.” 

Both their doors were closed. 

“That’s it then, huh?” Dagmar asked. 

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Draco said. “Let me know if you need anything, I guess. Or the house elves can help you.” 

Dagmar tried to smile, but she wound up pressing her lips instead. She could tell by Draco’s tone that, despite trying to act his part of host, he really didn’t want her to bother him with anything. 

“Thanks. I’ll probably manage on my own,” she said.

Draco nodded and headed back for his room. The door had closed behind him before Dagmar passed it by for her own. Dagmar kicked off her shoes, followed by pulling off her socks. The rest of her clothes created a pile by the closet door as she picked something more comfortable to wear. After that, she laid down on her bed and folded her fingers over her lower abdomen. So this would be her summer while her parents finally started to face the consequences of becoming Death Eaters.


	3. Arrangements

Boredom similarly afflicted Draco for the evening. Not that his parents had the explicit chance yet to say so, but this meant their usual travel plans had fallen through as well. Draco and his parents hadn’t set anything in stone, but he’d been hoping to recommend southern Spain—or maybe Italy—as a good place to unwind. 

When Draco woke the next morning, he’d nearly forgotten that they had guests. He stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the dining room, heard Dagmar’s voice, and backtracked so he could put a shirt on. 

Dagmar chatted with someone speaking in a high, squeaky voice. Draco curled his nose to think about her engaging one of the house elves. Just what was she playing at? 

The conversation fell quiet as Draco neared the bottom. 

“Neesy should go,” the house elf squeaked. “I hears the young host master coming.”

A small pop sounded just before Draco rounded the corner. Dagmar sat alone with a plate of half-eaten toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, and mash sitting in front of her. A smile still lingered in her eyes. 

“Morning,” she greeted him. The smile faded away. 

“Morning.” Draco sat down at the opposite end of the table. A few seconds later, a full plate with the same foods as was on Dagmar’s appeared in front of him. “We don’t have a house elf named Neesy.” 

“We do,” Dagmar replied. “I didn’t realize that our house elves had come with us. Makes sense, I guess. They won’t have anything to do at our manor while the Ministry is sifting through it, and it’s not like the Ministry could question them anyway. It lightens the burden on yours too from having to care for twice as many people as usual.”

Draco grunted through a mouthful of potato. A familiar irritation tugged on his insides.

“What is it with you and creatures below your status?” he asked. “The company you keep at school, and then you mingle with the help at home?”

Dagmar wrinkled her nose and cast him a contemptuous look. “You’re putting me off my breakfast.”

“I’m asking in all seriousness,” Draco replied. “Mudbloods, blood traitors. . .now house elves. Why?”

“Why not?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“One you wanted.” Dagmar pushed her sausages around, gaze steadfast on them. The weight of Draco’s continued stare pulled it back up. Dagmar exhaled through her nose in annoyance. “Hermione was nice to me when we all started at Hogwarts.”

“And?”

“Do you remember what I was like, back then?”

Draco pressed his lips, thinking, but that was almost six years ago.

“My English still wasn’t very good,” Dagmar said. “Pansy teased me because of it. Hermione helped me. I learned what company was worth keeping at Hogwarts early on.”

“You had to know she was a mudblood,” Draco said. “She’s not one of the Twenty-Eight.”

“Neither am I,” Dagmar pointed out. “I’m not from a British family. Hermione might be a distant relative of the French Grangers. That’s a big pureblood family, there.”

Draco grunted again. He doubted that.

“We’re not that personal lately anyway, her and I.” Dagmar cut one of her sausages with the side of her fork. “We study together. We fight for top of the year, not that I ever really have a chance. That’s about it. We don’t talk about much not related to schoolwork.”

“So she’s useful to you, then?”

With her sausage halfway to her mouth, Dagmar paused. “I suppose you could put it that way. I do like her, though. I respect her. I think if there weren’t such dragons in the room, we might have kept on like we used to be.”

“Even though she’s a mudblood?”

“Nobody’s blood is completely pure, Draco,” Dagmar said. “Every pureblood family has embarrassments. You really think that our family genealogists would include them in our trees?”

“And I suppose you’re comfortable with that?” Draco asked.

“Ja, because I don’t care. Blood doesn’t make the person. Look at the difference between you and Hermione, for example. She works hard. Despite her non-pure blood, she beats us in everything. _You_ rely on your status as a pureblood to be a defacto better-than-you ideal. As a result, you’re lazy, unrefined, and if something takes too much effort, you whine to Daddy so he can make it happen with his gold. You coast. What does that say about pure blood?”

Heat rose in Draco’s cheeks while anger stewed in his stomach. “Spoken like a true blood traitor.”

“Spoken like a true spoiled brat.”

“I ought to tell your father what sort of company you keep.” Draco pointed his fork at her. “It’s a wonder I haven’t before. I should have the first time I saw you consorting with those types.”

“Your daddy isn’t enough, you need to go crying to mine too?”

Draco’s cheek muscles pulled into a familiar expression as he sneered at her. 

“You reap what you sow,” Dagmar told him. “I’ve never seen much for kindness from the purebloods that are proud of that for the sake of it. You can call families like the Weasleys or the Macmillans or the Longbottoms blood traitors all you want, it doesn’t make their blood any less pure than yours. I’m sure that drives you crazy, seeing as they actually manage to make something of themselves.”

Draco resolved not to so much as look at her again while he finished his meal. He would take his plate up to his room if it wouldn’t be rude to do so. 

Dagmar spoke again while Draco tried to chew his toast as fast as possible. “Would your father mind if I went into the library?”

“Ask him.”

“Is he around?”

“No idea.”

Dagmar was quiet for a moment. “The doors were open. I’d say that means he wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t you?”

“Do whatever you want, but don’t blame me later if you get in trouble.”

“Are _you_ allowed in the library?”

“I’m allowed to go wherever I please, in my own home.”

“Will you take me there?”

“I’m sure you can find it.”

“I don’t want to be a rude guest and just wander into rooms on my own,” Dagmar replied. “And last night you were so concerned about being a polite host that I figured you wouldn’t mind. Because if your father finds me in there and that I wasn’t invited in, he might wonder why.”

Draco stood up with his last piece of toast. “Come on, then.”

Dagmar gestured at her plate. “I’m not done eating.”

Irritated, Draco dropped back into his seat. To avoid saying something that would put him concretely into the rude camp, he filled his mouth with bread. If everyday was like this with Dagmar, it would be a long summer indeed. He might even go offer help to the Ministry while they combed Ramstad Manor to speed up the process and get her home. 

When Dagmar finished the last of her eggs, Draco rose with her. They trekked across the great room and into the hallway that separated it from the foyer. They passed the drawing room on the way.

To the right was the second set of doors into the library. Draco crossed his arms and sat on the arm of a chair while Dagmar looked over the shelves. He narrowed his eyes when she looked back at him. 

“Some of these titles,” she said. “You wouldn’t even find them in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.” 

“And?”

Dagmar opened a book on her arm, sending a plume of dust into her face. She held it up to her chest as a sneeze loomed. Draco could see the title: _Glossary of Forbidden Hexes - 16th Century._

“You’re lucky I’m not of-age yet.” Dagmar sniffled, still congested, as she sifted through the book. “I’d like to try some of these out.”

“ _I’m_ of-age.” Draco took a step toward her. “Let me see.”

Dagmar brought the book back up against her chest, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“You wouldn’t dare, anyway,” she concluded as she assessed the smirk he couldn’t suppress. “Not while I’m your guest.”

“Don’t tempt me. A caning from my father might be worth it.”

One of the drawing room doors opened. With the woman’s back turned, Draco couldn’t tell alone from the long blonde hair whether it was his or Dagmar’s mum that had emerged and carefully shut the door behind her. When she turned around, he saw that it was his own. 

She smiled. “I thought I heard voices in the library.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy.” Dagmar changed her demeanour to something closer to pleasant. “We’ll keep our voices down. I didn’t realize they’d carry like that.” 

“It’s quite all right. How are you settling in?”

“Just fine.” Dagmar lifted the book she’d been looking at. “Draco showed me in here. I’ve never seen some of these titles before, or heard of some of these hexes.”

“Read whatever you like,” Draco’s mum invited her. Draco resisted rolling his eyes, which grew easier when his mum turned her attention to him. “I need to speak with you. Let’s go up to your room.” 

“Okay.” Draco snatched the opportunity to get away from Dagmar. 

“See you later,” Dagmar said with extra brightness. “Thanks for your help.”

Draco shot her a quick sneer before following his mum out to the foyer. Dagmar’s smile grew into a cheeky grin. 

Draco’s mum led him up the curved staircase and then invited herself into his room. Draco passed her by and sat down on the bed, wondering what exactly he’d done to be pulled aside like this. His mum closed the door. She didn’t look angry, so maybe Draco wasn’t in trouble. Draco thought for a minute that she’d overheard snippets of his and Dagmar’s conversation, or at least Draco’s short tone. Were that the case, his mum would’ve dropped any act of pleasantry once the two of them were alone. She merely continued to smile, studying Draco as she took in a long breath. Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. His mum’s excitement made him curious. 

“We need to touch base again on what we discussed over the Christmas holidays,” his mum said. 

Before he could help himself, Draco’s spine slumped and he screwed up his face. 

“You’ve known for years it was coming.” His mum’s tone sharpened. “As soon as you turned of-age.” 

“Yeah, but. . .” It always seemed so far away, and with exams at school, Draco had managed to forget that with his seventeenth birthday came this.

His mum reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled something out before taking a seat next to Draco on the bed. She held the small black box out to him. Draco’s hand suddenly weighed far too much to take it. He’d revelled for the past few weeks that he was now an adult, but this one single object made him feel like a child again. He wasn’t ready. 

Since he wouldn’t take it, his mum put it in his hand. 

“They belonged to my grandparents,” she said. “I recently had them cleaned. Just leave them in the box for now, and they shouldn’t see any extra wear until the wedding comes around.”

“I’ll write Pansy then,” Draco heard himself say. 

“Well. . .”

Draco’s stomach lurched even further. “Well, what?” 

“Things changed when the Dark Lord came back,” his mum delicately said. “Pansy would’ve been a fine choice for you, but after discussing it with the Dark Lord, we believe it would be better to align ourselves more strongly with the Ramstads.”

“You have _got_ to be joking,” Draco said before he could help himself.

“I’m not.” His mum’s demeanour cooled again. “Dagmar is the only daughter amongst our social circle. Your aunt Bella and uncle Rod never had children—although, well, even if they did, I certainly would not allow you to be set up with someone _that_ closely related.”

“I’d almost rather.” Draco held the ring box back to his mum who, instead of taking it, folded her fingers together in her lap. 

“What’s wrong with our decision?” she asked. “Your father and I—and Hildegard and Erik—were under the impression that you and Dagmar got along just fine.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Draco stood up. “We only get along because we don’t talk. We don’t associate at school. We have no form of a relationship at all. She’s—”

Draco stopped himself before he could tell his mum she was a blood traitor.

“Her parents are the same way,” his mum said. “It’s highly advantageous to have families that fly beneath the Ministry’s radar. Does Dagmar not regularly interact with that Muggle-born Hermione Granger? That’s only one degree away from Harry Potter.”

Draco hesitated before he asked, “Does that not concern you?”

“No,” his mum answered right away. “It shouldn’t concern _you_ , either.”

Draco’s tongue tied against pushing the matter. If their parents indeed knew about what kind of company Dagmar kept, then maybe they had use for it. 

That still didn’t fix Draco’s problem at hand. He’d known this day was coming, but he thought he had it all figured out. He’d invested in Pansy. Maybe he didn’t feel all that much for her, but they were at least on the same page for a lot of things. She was happy to defer to Draco’s judgement on everything. She didn’t require any extra effort to be happy. She was content just to have him. 

Dagmar’s voice wafted through Draco’s mind, wrinkling his brow again in residual annoyance: _You coast._

“Please do try to make it work.” His mum placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I know it’s not what you were expecting. We don’t make these decisions lightly. I never mentioned it before because we discussed it very carefully with the Ramstads over the past two years. It makes the most sense politically, and your personalities ought to mesh just fine if you give it a chance.”

“I think that if Dagmar and I were ever going to hit it off, we would have by now.” 

“ _If you give it a chance_ ,” his mum repeated. “Why would you focus on any other girl if you thought you would be marrying Pansy one day?”

Draco didn’t like that she had a point.

His mum took his silence as acquiescence, at the very least. She smiled again. “We’ll all give you space about it, so you can go it at your own pace. Just let us know when she knows.”

“Right.” 

“Perhaps you can turn the misfortune about Ramstad Manor into a good thing,” his mum said. “Use this summer—or whatever part of it that Dagmar is here—to try and get to know her. Coming up on your NEWT year, I daresay you two might be too busy once September arrives.”

Draco nodded.

His mum pulled him closer so that she could kiss the side of his head. “Your father and I are proud of you. You’ll do well. You always do.” 

Dagmar’s voice went through Draco’s head again: _You whine to Daddy._

“I’ll try,” Draco said, his mouth dry. 

“That’s all we can ask.” His mum stood up. “Your father mentioned having a word with you about the whole thing. I daresay he’ll track you down once he has a moment.”

“Okay.”

She left. Draco remained seated on the edge of his bed, playing with the ring box as if it were some bastard snitch he’d never meant to catch. He opened it and looked in at the jewels and bands of gold and silver that glittered back. Out of curiosity he slid the plain band onto his ring finger. It looked weird there.

Considering how things went when he and Dagmar actually talked to each other, Draco didn’t have the highest of hopes. He wasn’t sure what kind of marriage Dagmar would expect either, for it would spell the end of her mudblood-friendly days if Granger or any of the others ever found out that she was willingly betrothed to _him_.

Draco returned his band to the box, shut it, and put it in the drawer of his bedside table. Maybe, he thought, that was the idea behind this arrangement. Their parents push one card, and all the others that Dagmar had so carefully constructed would fall.


	4. How to Please a Woman

The noon hour came and went. Draco ignored his rumbling stomach until it gave up on insisting he seek out something to eat. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. Draco laid in bed for a little while, then tried to sit out on his balcony for some fresh air. Unfortunately, since his room faced south, the sun became quickly unbearable. He resorted instead to opening the balcony door and the window above his desk to tempt a cross-breeze. 

Although it was a long tradition amongst the more prominent pureblood families to arrange their childrens’ marriages, they’d changed over time. Both parties had to consent for the marriage to go through, nowadays. Did the Dark Lord’s interest in the matter override that? 

Even if the Dark Lord didn’t offer his opinion on the marriage, he might have still had something to do with why Draco’s betrothal to Pansy fell through. Pansy’s parents were traditional purebloods, yes, but not Death Eaters. Times had changed. Draco’s mum mentioned that they’d been discussing this with the Ramstads for the past two years, which was when the Dark Lord had returned. 

It could even be suspected that Rose and Cassius Parkinson called off the potential engagement because of it. If they didn’t believe that the Dark Lord would ever rise again when a marriage was first suggested, then there was no harm in associating with the Malfoys, whose family name had been cleared. But, with the Dark Lord back, they may have shied away. 

If her parents did, Pansy either didn’t know about it or she didn’t care. Draco and Pansy had been each other’s firsts in everything after all, and she’d invested in Draco as much as he’d invested in her—more, in fact, factoring in the emotional attachment that Draco didn’t really return. 

Or it could’ve all just been his parents’ decision-making. The Dark Lord returning changed the lives of everyone in the wizarding community, whether they sided with him or not. Now that he was back, his plans would begin moving forward again. It was more important than ever that more pureblooded children be born, and even more so that they be born underneath the umbrella of the Dark Lord’s influence. 

Draco’s stomach took a nasty flop that ended with a touch of nausea at the back of his throat. He hadn’t thought yet that by marrying Dagmar they would be expected to have children. It was difficult enough to imagine himself as a father, no matter what woman Draco married. He couldn’t see Dagmar as a sexual person regardless of how much Pansy took the piss about what kind of noises Dagmar made in the night. Draco had seen Dagmar some mornings when she came out of the girls’ dormitory. Paler than usual and looking like she fended off a flu, Draco sincerely doubted she harboured some suppressed nymphomania. There were plenty of other things that caused someone to moan and writhe around in their sleep. 

Forget having sex with her, Draco couldn’t even imagine kissing or touching her. He doubted she’d ever let him. So how was this union supposed to bear offspring? Maybe it wasn’t. Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod never had, and nobody ever looked down on them for it. 

All this deliberating was hardly worth it without Dagmar’s input. Perhaps above all, that made Draco the most nervous. Would she even believe him if he went back down to the library and told her about this? They’d butted heads for the sliver of morning they saw each other. Until that smoothed out, the timing wasn’t right. Draco’s mum wasn’t rushing him, at least. She’d said that Draco ought to take it at his own pace, so that was what he’d do. The right moment, or at least something resembling it, would eventually come. 

Taking the pressure off doing this today made Draco feel better. 

He jumped when a sharp knock at his bedroom door jarred him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“May I come in?” It was his father. 

“Sure.”

Draco sat up on his bed and pat his hair down at the back. His father stopped just inside the bedroom door. Draco couldn’t bring himself to raise his gaze any further than the bottom of his father’s robes. 

“Your mother spoke to you earlier?” his father said in a business-like tone. 

Draco’s cheeks grew warm. “Yeah.” 

“You don’t look too happy.” 

Draco looked up at his father, who contemplated him with a slight tilt of the head. Draco shrugged. 

“Wasn’t what I expected,” he said. “It was supposed to be Pansy. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” 

“Well, you need to at least try—”

“I know,” Draco cut him off. “Mum said, and I get it. I will. But I don’t know how I’ll convince _her_ to go through with it.” 

“I’m sure you two will figure it out. You got along just fine with Pansy.” 

“Pansy’s different. _Way_ different.” 

Draco’s gaze dropped again. He heard his father sigh. 

“Come with me to my study,” his father told him. “I’m going to give you something that should help.” 

“I’m not using a love potion or anything like that, if you. . .” Draco trailed off at the contemptuous look his father was giving him. 

“You’d better hope you don’t.” His father opened the bedroom door again. “Come.” 

Draco drug his feet across the hall and down the dining room stairs. He followed his father down a short hallway that led to his study. Draco lingered close to the door while his father rifled through his desk. He brought out something small and black. If it was another box, Draco would refuse to take it. 

It was a book. Its cover was blank, its spine worn, and the pages yellowed with age. It was no bigger than Draco’s hand, and no more than fifty pages. He hesitantly accepted it. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“It doesn’t have a title,” his father said. “My father gave it to me when I was arranged to marry your mother. It’s a tremendous help. You’ll likely read it for the first time and think the advice isn’t worth following. Do that, and you’ll eventually realize that you’re going about things the wrong way. Follow its advice, and you’ll have a long, fulfilling marriage.” 

“Er. . .thanks.” 

His father opened the study door. 

“A word of advice,” he said as Draco passed him by. “For now at least, don’t let Dagmar know you have it. There’ll come a time where it won’t matter that she sees it, but until a certain level of trust has been established, it can harm more than help.” 

“Er—right.” 

Face warm again, Draco left his father’s vicinity. That was the closest they’d ever come to a conversation about how to handle women. If this book was something to do with that, Draco could’ve used it a lot earlier than this in life. It might have saved him a lot of grief from the odd time he upset Pansy, or she started acting in a way that Draco couldn’t quite understand. 

Alone since his father remained in his study, Draco slowed his step and flipped through the book. It was mostly words written in cramped and hardly legible hand. He spotted a picture and flipped back. 

Draco came to a complete stop, one foot on the bottom stair. His eyes widened as he took in a detailed diagram of external female genitalia. With a glance around, he snapped the book shut. The only thing more mortifying about looking at that where anyone might see was the knowledge that his father had given him this. Whatever Draco might read in this book, his father had taken it to heart and applied it to his mum within their marriage. That wasn’t something Draco needed to know anything about. 

And yet. . .by the time Draco reached the top of the staircase, his curiosity got the best of him again. A book at least saved both him and his father face, for Draco couldn’t imagine his father sitting him down with the diagram he’d just seen and asking if he knew what a vagina was. Draco would likely just sink through the floor if that were to happen. 

Draco locked his bedroom door. Resuming his old position on his bed, Draco opened the book again to the first page and read: 

_If you’ve come into possession of this book, you have reached manhood and just finalized your impending arranged marriage. I have written this for such purpose to ensure that you will fulfill the woman you are about to share the rest of your life with. In turn, she will fulfill you._

_This guide will not rely on the use of potions, spells, or simple trickery. It depends upon a base of respect between you and your future wife. It is my hope that this guide will show you what true respect looks like, if the definition has until now been muddled by bad examples or lacking experience._

_A marriage is a partnership. You and your wife will be equals within in. Let’s begin._

Draco turned the page. 

_Part 1: Consent_

_Your marriage begins with consent. The young lady that your parents have chosen for you is most likely someone that you already know, perhaps somebody within your social circle. This helps to ensure that both of you will consent to the marriage, because you already to some degree know who she is as a person. Your chemistry has been tested and observed._

_That she is a person is a matter of the greatest importance within your future marriage. To reiterate my words in the introduction, for they bear repeating, your wife will be your equal. You will be partners. She is a human being with thoughts, emotions, needs, and wants. She does not exist solely to serve you, or to flatter you, or to agree with you._

_The concept of consent is often-most discussed in sexual matters, but still applies beyond that. Your wife’s body is her own, and you are not entitled to it (this goes both ways—she is not entitled to yours, either). It is always best practice that if you wish to try something new or touch her in a way that you either haven’t before or haven’t discussed, to ask. Of course, once you become more familiar with your wife, you will be able to tell whether or not it’s something she’s interested in._

**_Sure signs you have consent:_ **

  * _She has said ‘yes’ to your suggestion_
  * _She is not incapacitated, and is eager in returning your affections_
  * _You two have come to a mutual agreement about how far you wish to go_
  * _She is relaxed and clearly comfortable in the situation_
  * _She knows she can trust you to stop anytime if she changes her mind_
  * _You two are around the same age and maturity level, or are both of-age  
_



**_Dubious signs of consent (you should pause and talk, to clear the confusion):_**

  * _You aren’t sure what she wants_
  * _You’re getting mixed signals (sometimes she seems interested, sometimes she seems tense or hesitant)_
  * _You haven’t said what you want to do and you’re unsure whether she’ll be equally interested_
  * _She stops or becomes unresponsive_
  * _She shows these signs while doing something you’ve done before (something may have changed)  
_



**_Signs that you do not have consent:_ **

  * _She has indicated that she does not want to have sex_
  * _You are intoxicated and unable to properly gauge her reactions_
  * _She is asleep or passed out_
  * _You hope she won’t say anything while trying something new and will just go along with it_
  * _You intend to have sex no matter what_
  * _You two are not around the same age and maturity level  
_



_Relying on non-verbal cues, especially during sex, is high-risk. The stakes are too high to be wrong. If either of the parties within your marriage (this applies to you as well) feel betrayed or used by the person they’re supposed to trust above everyone else, the effects spread beyond the marital bed. Once done, they are difficult—and sometimes impossible—to fix._

While Draco read, a heavy feeling emerged in his gut as if a rock sat there. It steadily grew in weight. As he read through all the various levels of consent, for most of them—good and bad—Draco could recall an example with Pansy. He’d never done what this book suggested. He never stopped or asked her about it. Draco didn’t know how to have a conversation about sex. 

He reread the line: _you intend to have sex no matter what._

On top of dealing with his arranged marriage today, Draco didn’t expect to be made to feel like a pile of dragon dung for things he hadn’t even realized he’d done wrong. He definitely could’ve used this book sooner in life. But, even when Draco and Pansy started having sex, would Draco have been mature enough to recognize such crucial advice when he saw it? 

He appreciated the chance to start fresh, but that didn’t fix any sense of worthlessness or disrespect that Pansy had ever experienced at Draco’s hands. 

Draco put the book in the same drawer as the rings. He’d read enough for now, especially if with each new page he learned about how he’d unknowingly harmed someone he cared about. Sitting up here alone with his thoughts wasn’t helping either. 

Another weird feeling accompanied this thought as Draco left his room and headed down the foyer staircase. He approached Dagmar now while only _he_ knew what their entwined futures might hold. Did that somehow violate consent between them? 

Draco’s tongue glued to the roof of his mouth when he rounded the corner into the library. He’d half-hoped that Dagmar relocated with the book she’d picked to read, but she sat in one of the chairs with her legs folded underneath her, and the same dusty tome open across her lap. She looked up, then resumed her reading. Her shoulders didn’t tense or anything, nor did her gaze stick to one part of the page. Draco deemed it safe to assume she either didn’t mind or care that he was back. 

Her body language changed when Draco took a seat in one of the other chairs. She glanced up again, this time without raising her head, and she’d stopped reading. 

“Anything interesting in there?” Draco asked. 

“Loads.” Dagmar’s spine straightened and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Her attention moved from the book to him. “I’ve at least found what I’ll spend the summer doing. I’ll be sure to get an O on my Defence NEWT. And maybe, by the looks of it, Charms and Transfiguration too. Maybe even Potions. . .” 

Dagmar flipped idly through the pages as if looking for something. 

“I can’t believe you’ve had all this information at your disposal and you’ve never utilized it,” she said. “Why not?” 

“Not as much of a reader as you, I suppose.” Draco drew a circle with his left pointing finger into the upholstery on the chair’s arm. “I looked through a few when I was younger, but I didn’t understand a lot of it.” 

“I can see why. Some of it is very complex. I’m even having trouble grasping some stuff right now.” 

Hair came forward over Dagmar’s shoulder as she bowed her head again. Her brow furrowed as she read something. 

“I might get it now,” Draco said, “but after ten months of study, the last thing I want to do is read anymore.” 

A smile played on Dagmar’s lips. “Is that what you call what you do all year? Study?” 

Draco bit back the first thing that came to his mind as response. Instead, he said: “You and I will have different standards of what counts as studying.” 

“Ja,” Dagmar easily agreed. “What did your mum want?”

Draco’s stomach tumbled to somewhere around his pelvis before uncomfortably crawling back up. 

“She heard us bickering,” Draco chose to say. “Told me off for being a bad host and impressing poorly upon the family name.” 

“So you’ve come to make nice?” 

Draco shrugged. “Thought I’d see what you’re up to. Might be more interesting than sitting up in my room.” 

“Is that what you normally do all summer?” 

“We usually travel.” 

Dagmar bunched her mouth all to one side and looked up again from beneath her brow. “I suppose you’re not the only one with ruined plans.” 

“We hadn’t discussed anything like you had with your parents. Hard to be disappointed when I don’t know where we would’ve been going.” 

“Still must be disappointed, though.” Dagmar rested her elbow on her book and supported her chin with her hand. “You probably didn’t expect to sit around for a couple months either. Especially since this is our last summer before we graduate. Then we have to get on with it.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. “I could still go wherever I please. In the eyes of the Ministry, we’re merely hosting you. Your parents are the ones that have to stick close. _My_ parents only do because they’re helping yours clean things up.” 

“Lucky you,” Dagmar said. “Seven more weeks until I’m of-age. That’s at least only three-quarters of my summer spent like this unless we’re cleared sooner than that to go home.” 

An idea struck Draco. “You said you were supposed to go to Nice?” 

Studying him shrewdly, Dagmar slowly nodded. 

“So why don’t you and I go?” 

Dagmar blinked. “Together?”

“We can.” Draco resented the warmth rising in his cheeks. “Or I could just escort you there, if you’d rather.” 

“Do you want me out of your home?” 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Draco said. “If you were going to spend the whole summer cooped up here in the library, it’d be pretty easy for me to avoid you, wouldn’t it? If I know where you are?” 

His answer satisfied Dagmar. Rather than show any signs of gearing up to go, however, she resituated in her seat and looked down at her book again. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’d mind taking a couple days just to relax after our exams. Could I take a rain check?” 

Draco lifted his chin so that he could see some of the cramped words on the page Dagmar read. “You call this relaxing?” 

“You can read for fun, see,” Dagmar replied. “What does it matter to you? If your mum said she wanted you to entertain me, you don’t have to worry about it. I’m perfectly capable of doing that for myself.” 

“Clearly,” Draco drawled. “You can read anytime, though. And you were disappointed about the change in plans. Forgive me for offering a solution.” 

“I wasn’t scorning you for that.” Dagmar started to get annoyed again. “That was actually thoughtful of you and something I’d like to do, but not right now. That’s why I asked for a rain check.” 

Again, Draco bit back the first thing that popped into his mind. He needed to get into the habit of not antagonizing her for the sake of it. 

“Okay,” he said instead. 

His refusal to engage further reversed Dagmar’s growing irritation. It pleased Draco to receive a smile, however small, before Dagmar returned in full to her reading. Considering this a win on the back of their morning and everything that had happened in-between, Draco rose. When he looked back at Dagmar from the foyer door, he caught a flicker in her gaze as it yet again dropped.


	5. Nice

Dagmar reasoned that Draco must have had one hell of a telling-off for him to make such a turn-around on his attitude. It was too bad he couldn’t maintain that all the time, because he wasn’t actually half-bad to talk to when he tried to be pleasant. He was still abrasive around the edges, but what else could Dagmar expect from such an insecure person? 

So long as he was pleasant, Dagmar reasoned that she could be too. There was no point in antagonizing each other all summer, and making Malfoy Manor any harder a place to be than it already was. Dagmar didn’t like to feel like she was intruding here. The library was well out of the way, but it still neighboured the drawing room. Dagmar had caught a glimpse of Mr. Malfoy heading in there the next day, their gazes meeting. The day after that, the library door leading into that hallway had been closed. 

Dagmar tried to find Mr. Malfoy to ask if it was acceptable to take books up to her room, but he came and went too often with her dad. Dagmar took the chance, reasoning there couldn’t possibly be a problem with it unless Mr. Malfoy went in there looking for something she happened to have. 

Reading so much without a break left Dagmar edgy. She thought more frequently about Draco’s offer. At first she’d suspected he only offered because his mouth moved as fast as the idea struck him. Draco looked bored too, though, whenever their paths crossed. He went flying a lot but other than that, Dagmar didn’t really know what he got up to. He spent most of his time on the ground in his room, but if Dagmar and Draco wound up in the same place long enough to hold a conversation, he never mentioned what he might be up to. 

Dagmar finished reading one of the books she’d taken out of the Malfoy library. When she returned it downstairs, she hesitated before taking the next one she intended to peruse. She really couldn’t fathom resettling into the developed groove on her bed beside the open window. 

Instead, she headed back upstairs empty-handed. Rather than turn right at the top, she went left. Draco’s room was quiet through the door, so Dagmar wasn’t completely sure what might come out of knocking. 

“Yeah?” he replied. 

“It’s me.” Dagmar leaned her shoulder against the wall. “A word?” 

Something inside slid open and then shut. Draco appeared a moment later, face long and eyes unfocused with the same boredom Dagmar experienced. 

“Wanna do something?” Dagmar asked. 

Draco’s expression cleared a little with interest. “Like what?” 

“Anything to get out of the house for a while.” Dagmar rested her head on the frame. “Thoughts on Nice?” 

Draco’s gaze passed Dagmar by for the grandfather clock on the opposite side of the hallway. It was a little past noon.

“Bit late in the day already, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“We could just go for the rest of the day, and come back after dinner.”

“Sure,” Draco agreed. “I’m up for it.” 

Pleased, Dagmar smiled. “Meet in the foyer at the top of the hour?”

With further agreement from Draco, Dagmar headed for her room to get ready. She wasn’t sure what weather to expect in Nice, if it would be sunny like it was here, or if rain washed up on the southern French coast today. She dressed for warm, but threw a jumper into the bag she intended to take with her. Dagmar was halfway through lathering her skin with a Sunshield Potion when she lost heart.

She hadn’t asked permission to go. 

Chances were good that her mother lingered around, unless she’d left for a tea somewhere with Mrs. Malfoy. Dagmar had thought she heard voices down in the garden earlier, beneath her room’s balcony. She stepped out onto it and listened. Sure enough, quiet, rapid tones broken by the odd chuckle came from below. 

“Mum?” Dagmar called. 

The voices hushed, then her mum appeared from underneath. She had a pale red drink in her hand. She stirred it with a thin, black straw.

“I need to ask you something,” Dagmar said. “I’ll be right down.” 

She grabbed her bag off the end of the bed and headed for the foyer stairs. Dagmar passed through the great room out into the back terrace. There was a small table right outside the double doors, where Mrs. Malfoy still sat with her legs crossed and her half-finished drink in front of her. She raised a hand in greeting at Dagmar. 

“In private, if you don’t mind,” Dagmar said under her breath in Norwegian to her mum. 

Regardless of her attempt not to be rude to Mrs. Malfoy, Dagmar caught a look between her and her mum. 

Dagmar folded her arms behind her back. “Is it okay if Draco and I go to Nice?” 

Her mum had her straw halfway to her mouth when she paused. A pale eyebrow rose in question but there was a different look in her eye, one that Dagmar couldn’t completely discern. 

“Not for long,” Dagmar hastily added. “Just for the afternoon. We’re both looking for something to do, see, and he offered to take me there, so. . .and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to go there alone, so it’s probably best he go with me, right?” 

Her mum reached over to brush Dagmar’s ponytail off her shoulder. “I don’t have a problem with it.” 

“There’s no issue with me going because of the Ministry search, either?” 

Her mum shook her head, gaze searching. “It’s only your dad and I that would need to answer to that. A day trip sounds lovely. I’m sure Narcissa would be just as happy to see her boy come out of his room for a while.” 

“Okay.” Dagmar kissed her mum’s cheeks in farewell. “We’ll be back after dinner.” 

She headed back for the foyer to sit on the stairs and wait for Draco. Hopefully in the meantime her mum wouldn’t come up with a reason for her not to go. Dagmar knew of one thing that might make her change her mind. 

Since this was the year Dagmar came of-age, it would also be the summer that she and the future-husband chosen for her would become officially engaged. By the end of Dagmar’s first year at Hogwarts, her parents had made an arrangement with Luzia Zabini.

Blaise turned of-age in the final week of August, ten days after Dagmar did. To head off alone with another man in the meantime might be considered inappropriate, even if the two things were completely unrelated. Anybody that knew how non-existent the relationship between Dagmar and Draco was wouldn’t find cause to worry. 

The clock in the foyer loudly ticked away the seconds while Dagmar sat in wait for Draco. Dagmar stood up as he came down. His one pocket rattled with coins. 

Dagmar pointed at his trousers. “If it’s hot, you might suffocate in those.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Scared to show a little leg, are we?” 

Draco pursed his lips. For a moment, Dagmar thought he might take her comment as opportunity to argue, but when his eyes narrowed, it was in a tentative show of humour. 

“You’ll be a good contender to have something lifted off you with a bag that size,” he commented. 

“They won’t get much more than a jumper,” Dagmar said. “If a Muggle manages, they won’t find much use for my money, either.”

“Wand?” 

“No point bringing it if I can’t even use it, is there?” 

“Guess not.” 

Dagmar followed Draco deeper into the house. She wrinkled her brow in confusion when Draco walked toward the great room’s fireplace. 

“We’re not apparating?” she asked. 

“Too far.” Draco opened a canister on top of the mantle. “And I’m not familiar with Nice, even if it wasn’t.” 

Draco lit a fire with his wand, then threw some of the powder in to turn it green. “We’ll head for the Grand Floo Junction. Even if Nice isn’t a popular enough destination to have its own exit there, we can just pass through somewhere else.” 

“Okay.” 

He went first. The flames turned orange once he’d disappeared, so Dagmar grabbed her own bit of powder. She stepped into the flames. 

“Grand Floo Junction, London!” she said. 

Floo was far from Dagmar’s preferred way to travel, since she had a hard time shaking the spinning sensation afterward. She stumbled a little toward where Draco waited for her. The junction station was packed today as holiday travellers towed children and carts full of luggage toward their destinations. One older witch almost knocked into Dagmar, an angry cat wriggling under her arm. 

Beneath a sign that read _Welcome to London_ in a few hundred languages were fireplaces that would take someone to Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds, Dublin, Edinburgh, or Glasgow. The more local cities surrounding London—Brighton, Bristol, Cambridge, and Southend-on-Sea—were around the corner that Dagmar and Draco took in following signposts for France. 

Draco made a noise of discontent in his throat when they looked at the fireplaces available for France. Only Paris, Nantes, Montpellier, and Marseille were available. 

“Which one is closest?” Draco asked. 

“Either Montpellier or Marseille.” Mirrors that cast no reflections were hung everywhere. Dagmar approached the nearest one. 

“What is your destination?” a disembodied voice asked. 

“Nice, France.” 

“Go to Station Grand Floo, Marseille,” the mirror replied. 

“Thank you,” Dagmar said, but wherever the voice had come from, it disappeared. Draco had migrated closer to her while she asked for help, so she jerked her head toward the fireplace marked Marseille. The flames were permanently green. “See you there.” 

After another whipping yet noticeably longer journey across the English Channel and nearly the entirety of France, Dagmar waited for Draco at another station before they connected through to Nice. To exit for the surface, a number of lifts were labeled with different parts of the city. Dagmar picked the one that led to Place Masséna. She and Draco had it to themselves as it headed upward. 

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you could’ve apparated,” Dagmar commented. All the people and chaos of travel had already drained her social battery a significant amount. 

“Nothing I can do about it,” Draco said.

“I know. Just saying, and I’m sure you agree.” 

Draco’s eyes had unfocused as result of all the navigating. 

“Maybe somewhere so far away isn’t suitable for just a day trip,” Dagmar mused. “Oh well. We’re here. Might as well enjoy it.” 

The lift came up into a backroom. It let out into a pub not too much different from the Leaky Cauldron, although perhaps cleaner and better lit as a bright, sunny day glinted off the tabletops. Dagmar squinted and nearly had to close her eyes entirely when they neared the door. 

“Just a minute,” she told Draco.

She turned at one end of the bar, which had been repurposed into a currency exchange desk. The wizard standing behind it had a large bulbous nose with a few warts on it. His eyebrows wisped away at either end. 

“Bonjour,” he said. “Préférez-vous anglais?”

“Je parle un peu francais, merci,” Dagmar exercised some of the French she’d learned from Hermione. She set a handful of galleons on the counter and waited for the wizard to count out the correct amount of money that it was equal to. 

Draco looked at the bills Dagmar inspected as they stepped outside. “Those look different than the ones I’ve seen. Are you sure he gave you the right thing?” 

“They’re francs, not pounds.” Dagmar indicated the writing on it. “Good eye, though. Might need that in the market.” 

Draco’s shoulders drooped. “We’re going to a Muggle market?” 

“Just for a minute. We need. . .” Dagmar looked around, certain what she looked for couldn’t be far off. “Ah, there we go. Come here.” 

Red buildings standing four and five stories tall surrounded them, as well as street lamps and various poles topped with art. Amongst the street vendors, between a couple selling food, was a sunglasses kiosk. Dagmar hung her bag in the crook of her elbow as she tried a few different pairs on. 

“Pick some,” she told Draco while considering herself in the provided mirror. “I’ll get them for you.” 

“I’ll manage without, thanks.” 

Draco had crossed his arms, looking around at the people that brushed past them while doing his best to avoid being touched. If he was already acting this way about assimilating with Muggles, maybe the day wouldn’t be as relaxing as Dagmar had hoped. 

She shifted closer to Draco so that she could drop her voice, just in case the Muggle vendor happened to understand English. “Drop your wizard pride for a little while. Sunglasses are a good invention. If you have to squint the entire time you’re here, you might end up not seeing anything at all.” 

Draco pursed his lips in consideration. 

“If it’s that big of a deal, you can give them to me for safekeeping when we head back home,” Dagmar said. “And I’ll tell no one that Draco Malfoy once wore a Muggle contraption on his face.” 

She’d worn him down with how stupid it sounded spoken aloud. Draco sighed and reluctantly started trying on a few pairs alongside her. 

“It’ll help us blend in, anyway,” Dagmar added. “Look around. You can tell the magical folk from the Muggles, can’t you?” 

Mismatched clothes aside, they struggled the same way that Draco had wanted to insist upon. 

“How much did you exchange back at the pub?” he asked. 

“Four galleons.” 

Draco dug into his pocket and pulled out two of the coins. “Give me half your Muggle money. I can buy my own things.” 

“Nonsense.” Dagmar ignored his outstretched hand. “If you want to make it even later, just buy me some sweets at La Zune’s.” 

“My money won’t be good anywhere here,” Draco said. “I don’t know that they accept galleons. French wizarding currency is different.” 

“We can go back to the pub then.” It was still within their sights. “I’m serious, you put that money back in your pocket. I’m getting you something for helping me get out of the manor house. And I’ll share my sweets later.” 

It was hard for Draco to accept the gift, however small. He silently debated with himself beside Dagmar, no longer trying on sunglasses now that he’d found one that suited him. He gave them over when Dagmar held out her hand. The Muggle vendor let them use a pair of scissors to snip off the tags before they doubled back to the pub. 

Dagmar hadn’t thought about exchanging her galleons for bezants. She handed over a bit more from her change purse and put the new coins in a separate compartment. 

“Maybe at some point today, we’ll get out of this square,” Draco said when they stepped back out into the sunshine. His mood had lightened enough for him to mean it as more a joke than snide comment, so Dagmar was able to laugh rather than be annoyed. 

Draco took the encouragement in stride, his smirk bordering more on a placid smile as they headed off for Vielle Ville, where the markets would all be. He kept looking in the opposite direction from Dagmar, and eventually she realized that he was studying himself in the windows they walked past. Despite his earlier balking, he seemed to like how sunglasses altered his appearance. 

He copied Dagmar in how she put her sunglasses on the top of her head once they’d reached shade again. They headed down a little alley dedicated to wizarding establishments, and were separated in La Zune’s. It endeared Dagmar how, after paying for his lot, Draco migrated back to her side while she finished loading up. Draco followed her through the aisles even if she didn’t have his full attention. He idly watched their fellow tourists. 

Dagmar picked some sweets she’d never had before, as well as some old favourites. The majority of her bag was filled with balistique bonbons (which literally exploded with flavour when chewed), éturnuements menthes (so strongly minty they made you sneeze), and caramel béton (caramel that started off soft and then gradually turned to concrete the longer it was in your mouth).

After La Zune’s, they went into a game shop. Draco was drawn to something called boules des goules, a set of balls that made all sorts of weird moaning noises inside their box until Draco cast a Silencing Charm on them. Dagmar and Draco split up then, Dagmar going into a coffee shop while Draco crossed the alley into one that sold liquor and spirits. 

He shrugged when Dagmar inquired upon the rose gold contents of the bottle he’d picked. 

“My mum likes a good French wine,” he said. “That’s one Christmas present done.” 

“It’s not even July yet,” Dagmar pointed out with a grin. 

“Never too soon to get it out of the way.” 

His cheeks turned pink, but the colour departed along with any sheepishness when Dagmar agreed with him. They’d spent all their bezants, so they left the wizarding shops. On their way south toward the Promenade des Anglais, Dagmar ducked into various Muggle shops so that she could use up her francs. One purchase included a kitschy shirt for Draco that said _Nice_ on it amongst a striped marinière pattern. Dagmar decided not to give it to him until they returned to the manor. The last of her francs were spent on Muggle sweets that went into the same bag as what she’d bought at La Zune’s. 

The sun was creeping further west, along with Dagmar and Draco, once they reached the Promenade. 

Draco held out a hand as Dagmar resituated her bag yet again on her shoulder. With everything in it except for Draco’s boules des goules game, it had grown heavy and uncomfortable. “Let me carry that for a while.” 

Dagmar’s first instinct was to wave him off, but then she remembered how annoying she found it when he rejected her own attempts at kindness. “You’re sure?” 

His hand remained out. 

Dagmar slipped it off her shoulder. “Give me your game, then.” 

It wasn’t as heavy, but awkward to pack due to its size and shape. On top of that, the balls shifted and quivered inside, apparently decided to act out their enchantments since they couldn’t be heard. 

“Look at this.” Draco pointed with his jaw up ahead at a man wearing red-striped shorts held up by suspenders. “Muggle or wizard?” 

“Hm,” Dagmar hummed. “Hard to say. The shorts are awful, but they don’t clash too horribly with his shirt or sandals. And he’s wearing sunglasses.” 

“Who wears socks on a day this hot, though?”

“ _You_ must be,” Dagmar pointed out with a glance downward at their feet. “Unless you’re just sweating straight into your shoes like some kind of madman.” 

Draco laughed, then pointed his chin at another fellow pedestrian along the promenade. “Muggle or wizard?” 

Some were too tough to call, but it was at least a fun way to complement the exposure to a predominantly Muggle environment. One that Dagmar was sure was a Muggle ended up bringing a bottle out of his fanny pack that Dagmar recognized as Sunshield Potion. Seeing it reminded her that she ought to reapply. When she thought to offer some to Draco, she inhaled a soft gasp when she looked at him. 

“You didn’t use any before we left, did you?” she asked. “You’re burnt to a crisp!”

“Am I?” Draco looked at his exposed forearm where, indeed, the part of it that faced the sun had taken on an angry red tinge. 

“You’d better put some on to prevent further damage.” Dagmar shoved the bottle into his hands. “And we should get you a hat. Your hairline is the same colour.” 

“So’s yours,” Draco pointed out. 

While Draco rubbed some of the potion into his skin, Dagmar pulled out her change purse. Reminder that she’d spent all of her foreign money made her press her lips in thought. 

“Maybe we ought to just catch dinner a little early,” she suggested. “Then we can head back to your manor. There must be some Sanasalve somewhere there. That’ll take the edge off, but you’re in for a couple painful days. _Sickly_ days, if you managed to get heatstroke.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Well, at least I had fun.” 

Dagmar smiled, for she was happy to hear that. It was a rare thing by her experience for Draco to say such a thing if it didn’t involve teasing somebody or Quidditch. 

“I did too.” Dagmar took the potion bottle from Draco when he was done with it. “I guess in a way it’s a good thing that rash is just a sunburn. As it turns out, you’re not allergic to culture after all.” 

“Ha ha,” Draco drily replied. 

They weren’t far from Avenue de Verdun, which would take them back to Place Masséna. Out of the sun, Dagmar could feel that she too, despite her precautions, may have gotten too much of it. When she and Draco found a table inside the pub they’d arrived through, she ordered water in attempt to stave off the worst of it. It felt better against her forehead than in her throat. 

Draco placed his against his temple. Other than where his sunglasses had protected his face, his cheeks and forehead were pinker than embarrassment or anger could ever manage. 

“I’m already starting to feel it,” he said. 

“I can tell,” Dagmar replied. “You don’t look good. Would you rather go home to eat?”

“No.” 

Draco might have said otherwise if he realized how long they would end up taking. Dagmar just made sure that he kept drinking water throughout the several courses that passed across their table. Once they’d finished dessert and digested for a few minutes, Dagmar pushed her chair back. 

“Let’s head out,” she said. 

Draco put up no argument this time, and he agreed without quibble to split the bill since they’d ended up sharing what they ordered on smaller plates. By the time the man in charge of payments had inspected each of the foreign coins handed over, Draco had grown quiet and somehow pale behind his burns. 

“Well, thanks for taking me,” Dagmar said when she returned to Malfoy Manor through the great room’s fireplace. “I hope it doesn’t take too much of a toll on you.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Draco replied. “Even if I feel like dragon dung tomorrow, I had a better time today than I would have just sitting around in my room. We should do it again.” 

“I’d be up for it if you are.” Dagmar brightened. “There were a lot of places we didn’t get to go. None of the museums, and even where we went, we only saw slivers of it.” 

“We can go somewhere else too, if you want the option.” Draco started them up the foyer steps. “It doesn’t have to be Nice.” 

“Maybe we ought to go somewhere with a little less sun, for your sake,” Dagmar suggested.

They went their separate ways at the top landing. The door to Draco’s bedroom drummed closed before Dagmar reached hers. She was suddenly exhausted. She dropped her bag beside the bed, fetched a glass of water from the bathroom sink, but laid down and fell asleep before she could take so much as a sip from it.


	6. Disclosure

Draco immediately fell asleep as well. When he woke up later, all the sun he got that day had caught up to him. He felt like he needed to toss. Sure enough, Draco was halfway through pouring himself a glass of water from the bathroom sink when he retched. 

He groaned into the toilet as what remained of his stomach contents came back up. A headache pushed up painfully behind his eyes. Shaking and weak, Draco finished pouring his water. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever looked so pathetic. The burns on his face contrasted against the remaining paler parts, stomach acid had burned his eyes and turned them red, and his hair stuck up in every direction. 

It was still dark outside. Rather than return to bed where the prospect of warm blankets deterred him, Draco headed out onto his balcony. The night was quiet and the breeze cool. He lowered himself onto a lounge chair and laid his head back.

He drifted in and out, as did his nausea. The headache refused to relent. As the eastern sky showed signs of dawn, Draco took his glass inside, refilled it one more time, and ate some of the chocolate he’d bought in Nice before properly falling asleep. He didn’t feel like he’d managed much rest when a knock came at his bedroom door. Sunlight filtered in through the window, turning him hot again underneath his covers. 

Only a croak came out of Draco’s throat when he spoke. He cleared it, but it didn’t seem to help dislodge whatever had settled. 

“Oh, did I wake you up?” It was his mum. “It’s past ten.” 

Draco was rubbing his eyes when she let herself in with his invitation. His mum clicked her tongue in sympathy and ran her hand over his forehead. 

“Are you sick?” She sat down beside him on the bed. “Maybe the heat didn’t agree with you.” 

“I don’t think it did.” Draco cleared his throat again, but it still didn’t work. He didn’t even sound like himself. 

“You’re warm,” his mum said. “You should stay in bed today. Take it easy until you’re feeling better. Do you want me to refill your water for you?” 

Draco laid back down, his spirits at least improved since someone cared enough to save him the most tiresome job he could manage at the moment. He accepted the glass gratefully. “Thanks, Mum.” 

She smoothed down Draco’s hair with a smile while he took a drink. “So how was Nice otherwise?” 

“Fun, actually.” 

“And?” 

Draco furrowed his brow. “And what?” 

“I thought you maybe planned to tell her there,” his mum replied. “Why haven’t you yet?” 

“I thought you said I should just take it at my own pace,” Draco said. “That’s what I’m doing. We’re having a chance to get to know each other without the weight of an arranged marriage looming over us.” 

“The only way you could actually do that is if you didn’t know about the marriage either.” His mum turned more to face him. “Otherwise the field isn’t level. Do you see what I mean? The longer you wait, the more likely she is to feel as though she may have been played with.” 

Draco’s heart sunk. He hadn’t thought about that. “Oh.” 

“It’s only fair if _you’re_ angling for something, that she be allowed to do the same.” 

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. 

His mum smiled again. “I’ll let you get some rest.” 

She closed Draco’s bedroom door behind her, leaving him alone in the fresh quiet. He’d thought he came up with a good plan. If he and Dagmar had a chance to actually find out what kind of chemistry they had, then accepting what their parents had chosen for them would go a lot easier. He hadn’t considered how knowledge of the impending marriage altered his own behaviour, which in turn influenced Dagmar’s. His mum was right. It wasn’t fair. 

Fear of being rejected had blinded Draco. He liked having the upper hand so that he could minimize the possibility for that. It seemed it was always high when it came to Dagmar. Draco had been actually happy yesterday. He didn’t feel his usual brand of miserable. Why not? Just because Dagmar was kind to him?

No, it ran deeper than that. Unlike Crabbe, Goyle, or Pansy, if Dagmar had a problem with Draco’s behaviour, she said something about it. That she had only a good time yesterday and seemed so concerned that _he_ have one as well meant that she genuinely had fun. Dagmar enjoyed Draco’s company. It wasn’t just that Draco merely had to exist, and he’d satisfied her. He’d aimed for something, achieved it, and the results felt good. 

It was certainly a better characteristic for a marriage than what Draco expected to come of his betrothal to Pansy. Pansy would never stick up for herself, and if she didn’t do that, then how would Draco ever know how to make her truly happy? Then, if _she_ was miserable, that would only seep over to Draco, who was miserable enough on his own without the weight of someone else’s negativity. 

Draco ate some more chocolate, had a kip, and read the noon hour away. He looked over the top of the little black book when yet another knock came at his door. 

“Yeah?” Some of the croakiness to his voice had receded, but it was still plainly audible. 

“It’s Dagmar,” she announced herself. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Er—just a second.” 

Draco shoved the book up under his pillow, then threw off his blanket. He pulled on the nearest shirt, which happened to be the one he’d worn yesterday, and then a pair of shorts over his pants. Rather than invite Dagmar in, he opened the door. 

She didn’t look in much better shape than him. Because she’d been mindful enough to put on some Sunshield Potion, her skin had merely darkened a few shades where it had been exposed to the sunlight. She sniffled as though she had a cold. She had a plate of food in one hand. 

“I ran into your mum downstairs.” Dagmar’s voice had deepened and thickened. “She said you weren’t feeling very good either.” 

“Somewhere between dung and rubbish.” Draco ran a hand over his cheek. 

Dagmar chuckled. “I brought you some lunch and a handful of those mint sweets I bought yesterday. You’ll sneeze so much your nose hurts, but once you clean out, it leaves you pretty perky. Did me, anyway.” 

“Thanks.” 

Draco took the plate to his desk. There was a chair beside it between the window and balcony door, which Dagmar dropped into. The cross-breeze caught the short hairs that escaped her messy ponytail. She rested her head against the chair’s back. 

“This is different,” Draco said as he pushed his food around. 

“Our house elves made it,” Dagmar told him. “It’s kjøttkaker. Nothing to be afraid of, just minced meat balls.” 

Draco had recognized the cabbage, potatoes, and beets that came with it. It didn’t look too different from what he was used to, just served differently.

“So I guess because you got sick you probably won’t want to go anywhere else for a while, huh?” Dagmar asked. 

“I might when I feel better,” Draco said through a mouthful of beets. “Today, not so much. Tomorrow’s doubtful too.” 

“Same for me, honestly.” Dagmar yawned. “The heat and the people and all of it just took everything out of me.”

Draco slowed down eating. His heart rate picked up as he remembered the conversation he’d had with his mum that morning. He and Dagmar probably shouldn’t take anymore trips until everything was out in the open. He should get it over with today. He should do it right now, in fact. 

“Listen.” Draco couldn’t bring himself to look at her. It was suddenly more important that his creamed cabbage and shredded beets be separated on his plate. “There’s something we need to talk about.” 

She didn’t reply. Draco glanced up to see that Dagmar was at least listening. She’d fallen serious along with him. Who liked to hear those words under any circumstance? 

“It’s a bit of a dragon in the room, but since we’re coming of-age this year, time’s come to take the next step on the marriages our parents arranged for us.” 

“Right.” Dagmar nodded. “I’ve still got until the end of summer before I have to think about it.” 

“That’s just the thing,” Draco said. “When we first got here, my mum approached me about it. They changed their minds about me and Pansy. They want you and me to pair up instead.” 

Dreading it but morbidly curious, Draco looked up at Dagmar. She didn’t look upset, just. . .confused. 

“They can’t have, though.” Her eyes darted a bit as she thought. “They would’ve told me. Blaise and I, I mean, we’ve gone five years now preparing for that. Why would they change their minds?” 

“You’d have to ask them,” Draco said. He couldn’t remember exactly what his mum had said about how the Dark Lord was involved in the decision. “All I know is that’s apparently now the plan. My mum gave me the rings already and everything.” 

The back of Dagmar’s head resumed rest against the chair. Her expression grew longer, more vacant, with each glimpse Draco took in her direction. 

“Makes sense now why you’ve been pleasant since that first day,” she said. “That’s what your mum wanted to talk to you about when she found us in the library, isn’t it?” 

There was no sense denying it. “Yes.” 

“That’s disappointing. I was actually starting to think you had it in you just to be decent.” 

“So what if I had a reason to try harder to get along with you? Would you rather I didn’t?” 

“You wouldn’t if you didn’t have a personal stake in making sure things go through.” Dagmar’s head lolled to better face him. “These are arranged, not forced marriages. If you were acting like a little snot rag I would just say no way, that I either want things to fall back onto Blaise or I’ll just opt out altogether and marry whoever I please, _if_ I marry.” 

“I don’t know what kind of personal stakes you mean.” Draco idly wrapped strands of cabbage around his fork. “My mum told me to try and make it work. I said I would, but that I had no idea where you would stand on the whole thing since we’ve never really spent any time together. You don’t really seem to like me either.”

“So then why the change? We were both fine with the ones they originally picked.” 

“Mum said they’d been in talks about it for a couple years. I don’t know why they couldn’t give us a proper heads up, but when I look back, they haven’t really encouraged me to get on with Pansy since then.” 

Dagmar pressed her lips. “Mine neither with Blaise, now you mention it.” 

“I don’t know what you want to do about it,” Draco said. “I kind of cocked up even more by not telling you right away. I figured you wouldn’t even give it a chance after how we’d left off in the library. But I get it wasn’t really much better to try and take lead, either. I don’t think it would’ve occurred to me otherwise that we should go to Nice. I probably would’ve been happy just to bicker with you all summer for something to kill the boredom with.”

“Same, to be honest.” 

Draco hadn’t expected Dagmar to like anything he said, let alone agree. He blinked at her, which earned him the faintest of smiles. It quickly disappeared. 

“I thought it would take some pressure off if we spent proper time together before I told you about it,” Draco continued. He felt his cheeks grow warm, but that probably wasn’t visible to Dagmar beneath his sunburn patches. “It wasn’t fair you didn’t know when I did. I don’t know if you would’ve gone to Nice with me if you were aware of it.” 

“I don’t know,” she replied.

It was better than a no, but not by much. 

“What’s in it for you?” Dagmar asked. “Why’re _you_ going along with it?”

“Because my mum asked me to try,” Draco repeated.

“I mean. . .” Dagmar trailed off. “Forget what your mum wants. Why would _you_ want this?” 

“I respect their wishes and that these decisions aren’t made lightly. My mum loves me too much to set me up with someone she wouldn’t think would make a good match.” 

Dagmar exhaled through her nose, annoyed, but it didn’t seem like the usual way. “I’m asking if there were feelings before she dropped it all on you.” 

“No,” Draco said. “Never had the chance and even if I did, what would’ve been the point? I already knew who I was spending my life with.” 

“Ja.” 

Dagmar sighed, and Draco had essentially lost his appetite through the conversation. The deepest pit of his fear for rejection had yet to be reached, so he held out hope yet. Dagmar was clearly disappointed, but she was still sitting here.

“For what it’s worth,” he told her, taking a further chance, “if yesterday was a glimpse of how we might be, then there’s potential for that.” 

“I want to say I agree, but this is just a lot to absorb right now.” Dagmar pulled her legs up onto the chair and rested her cheek on her knees. “You get it, right? I’m sure you took the time to think about everything. I need to do the same.” 

“Okay.” 

“I appreciate you being honest anyway, even if. . .you know. We’ll have to stay that way if we want to figure this out. I’ll say for my part that if you have any harsh truths, I’ll brace for them.” 

“I’ll try to do the same, but I’ve never really been good about that.” 

That earned Draco another smile, which was something, even if it didn’t reach Dagmar’s eyes. To Draco’s disappointment, she rose out of the chair. “I’ll see you around.” 

Draco watched her leave, given up completely on recovering his appetite even if this went about as well as could be expected. Dagmar might only be reacting so well because it had yet to sink in. It could be a day or two before Draco learned her real position on everything.


	7. Negotiations

Dazed, Dagmar returned to her bedroom. Her first instinct was to deny that this happened at all. Her parents couldn’t have possibly upended her life like that and left Draco to inform her. _Would_ they do that, or was this perhaps the most recent way Draco came up with to stave off boredom? Had he played the long-game, luring Dagmar into a sense of comfort before cruelly striking her down? 

No—he wouldn’t. Even on his worst day, Draco couldn’t possibly go that far. 

Dagmar had five years to grow comfortable with the idea of marrying Blaise. Granted, the two of them didn’t have much for romantic chemistry, but Dagmar liked him anyway. She respected him. He was a good conversation partner, and her friends thought he was decent. If Dagmar and Blaise decided to start properly dating after their engagement this summer, it might not disrupt the life that Dagmar still wanted to live. 

That wouldn’t be so, with Draco. It didn’t matter if he smartened up completely from here on, he could never undo six years worth of a bad reputation at Hogwarts. Dagmar couldn’t think of one friend that Draco hadn’t at some point insulted or teased. 

Not to mention, living in her own dorm would be next to impossible if Dagmar didn’t want to be hexed in her sleep. Pansy was bad enough when she was secure with Draco. The thought of finding out just how wild Pansy could get when she truly hated someone set a weight in Dagmar’s stomach. Her parents might have their reasons, but they hadn’t really thought about how this might disrupt their daughter’s life. 

The only way to find out their thought process was to ask. Dagmar didn’t have high hopes of finding her dad. He’d been gone more than present unless he was locked up in the drawing room with Mr. Malfoy. Draco had mentioned one day that it was the only part of the manor out of bounds, and to not even bother knocking because it was more trouble than it was worth. 

Dagmar had seen her mum earlier, headed for the room that her parents were staying in. The door was slightly ajar when Dagmar snuck down the hallway past Draco’s room. 

“Mum?” she called into it. 

No response came, but Dagmar caught sight of her out on the balcony. Dagmar passed through the room, then knocked lightly on the balcony door. Her mum sat in the shade provided by the manor’s north wall, her ankles crossed at the end of the lounge chair she read in. The smile she greeted Dagmar with faded. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked in Norwegian. 

Dagmar closed the door after her so that any potentially raised voices wouldn’t reach Draco. Hopefully Mrs. Malfoy didn’t sit down below, out of sight but most definitely not out of earshot. 

Dagmar sat down in the chair beside her mum. “What was wrong with Blaise?” 

Head tilted as if they merely discussed the weather, her mum studied Dagmar. “Draco finally told you?” 

Dagmar pressed her lips. So it wasn’t just a trick, then.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Dagmar said. “Why did it have to change? Why didn’t you tell me? Draco said Mrs. Malfoy said you were all talking about this for a few years.” 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we had it set in stone for that long,” her mum replied. 

“Then why not tell me you were at least considering a change?” Dagmar pressed. “What if Blaise and I had really clicked, and we’d been going together all this time?”

“I’m sure then you would opt out of any changes we made.” Dagmar’s mum regarded her again. “ _Are_ you?” 

“I-I don’t know.” Dagmar folded her arms on her lap. “I’m just confused. What was wrong with Blaise? Why did you change your mind?” 

“Blaise was a good match for you,” her mum said. “He comes from a good family. Very handsome young man, and ambitious. Things changed when the Dark Lord returned. We have to keep ours as close as possible. That left Draco as the only potential choice.” 

Rather than clear things up, Dagmar only grew more confused. “What does the Dark Lord have to do with anything like this? I was going to marry a pureblood either way. What could Draco and I possibly do that would be any different?” 

Her mum shifted rather than provide an answer. She wiped something off her thigh that wasn’t actually there. 

“Draco and I hardly know each other,” Dagmar kept on. “There are reasons he and I have never really spent any time together.” 

“Ultimately, it’s up to you,” her mum said. “Will you at least try and make it work? Give Draco a chance. You did when he asked you to go to Nice. That turned out fine, didn’t it?” 

“That was one day.” 

“You seemed to enjoy it, anyway.” 

“I did, but I don’t think everyday could be like that with him. He’s bound to slip back into his old ways.” 

“Then you’ll be there to correct him, won’t you?” 

Dagmar narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to adopt him as his new mum. If Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy wanted him to have some manners, they should’ve taught him some during the seventeen years they were responsible for him.” 

To Dagmar’s annoyance, her mum smiled. “Good to see you’ll stick up for yourself. You two have strong personalities. So long as you keep open and honest with each other, you’ll make it work. Draco might be a tad immature, but he’s not stupid. He’ll figure it out.” 

“He’d better, because I won’t put up with any of his bollocks.” This topic took them away from what Dagmar really wanted to discuss. “So what was it that changed when the Dark Lord came back? You said we keep our own close. Does that mean he wants us to join him?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re too young for that.” 

Dagmar’s stomach sank. That didn’t exclude the future. She got up to go, having heard enough, but stopped when her mum spoke her name. 

“There are ways to serve the Dark Lord that don’t require a Dark Mark on your forearm,” she said. 

Dagmar studied her mum as if the answer to that riddle might be written somewhere on her face. It wasn’t. Even more confused than when she’d arrived, Dagmar returned inside. 

* * *

Confined to his room, Draco had no idea how his discussion with Dagmar had affected the household. He expected to hear rowing, but it never came whenever Dagmar’s voice reached him. Draco did his best to keep their paths from crossing. He took his meals up to his room, and if he made an appearance outside of it, he scouted ahead to make sure he wasn’t forcing his company. 

Whether or not anyone openly fought, tension filled the manor house. Surely Dagmar had told her mum about her uncertainty, which meant Draco’s mum would know, which meant their fathers knew. If the Dark Lord cared enough, he too would know. Their carefully laid plans rested on the decision of a teenaged girl. 

Two days after Draco informed Dagmar about the arranged marriage, he managed to glimpse her by accident. He’d headed out to his balcony for some fresh air when the manor house’s front door opened down below. Dagmar appeared on the portico, looking tense and serious before rapid footsteps carried her off down the road that led from Malfoy Manor toward Enford, the nearest Muggle village. Had she been carrying anything, Draco might have suspected she didn’t intend to return. However, an hour or so later, she appeared again at the end of the lane. Draco kept himself low to the balcony and away from the edge in his lounge chair as he listened to her come back up to the manor house and let herself inside. 

The next day, Draco was out on the balcony again when the front doors opened. The footsteps below stopped. 

“Are you up there?” came Dagmar’s voice. 

Draco put the black book on his lounge chair as he got up. He looked down over the railing. 

Dagmar shielded her eyes from the sun. So close to home, Draco noticed, she wouldn’t wear the sunglasses she’d bought. 

“I was knocking at your door,” she said. “You didn’t answer.”

“Need something?” Draco asked. 

“I was wondering if you’d go for a walk with me.”

This had to be it. 

“I’ll be right down,” Draco replied. 

He was dressed well enough for the weather outside. Even though the lane was shielded by the surrounding trees, Draco put some Sunshield Potion on anyway. After how sick he’d been after his and Dagmar’s day in Nice, he didn’t want a repeat. 

Dagmar leaned against one of the columns out front when Draco stepped out. For now she wasn’t giving anything away. Her expression was neutral, neither disdainful or encouraging, and she wasn’t inclined to talk until they’d put some distance between themselves and the manor. Draco slid his hands into his shorts pockets. The sounds of birds singing grew around them, as did the shuffling of their feet thanks to the trees boxing it all in. Everything else fell away. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days,” Dagmar broke the silence. She too was more concerned with the road than looking over at Draco. “What really concerns me is that we didn’t have the time like we were supposed to, to get to know each other. We only get two years rather than a full seven. And that’s only if we both agree now for this to go forward.” 

Draco cleared his throat. “Right.” 

“I wanted to talk about the big things, since we won’t have time just to passively learn them from each other.” A breeze picked up and blew a piece of Dagmar’s hair back over her shoulder. Even in the shade there was enough light for the blonde strands to glimmer. “What are your deal breakers?” 

“My deal breakers?” Draco repeated. He’d never really considered it. 

“Like if I was Muggle-born or something,” Dagmar offered as an example. 

“I don’t really know,” Draco eventually said. “I haven’t had much of a chance to find out. Lying, I guess?” 

“Okay. What else?” 

Another occurred to Draco that he’d been thinking a lot about lately. “Being too passive.” 

Dagmar looked over at him. “Would you elaborate on that?” 

Draco doubted he’d have that issue with Dagmar, because she wasn’t passive at all. The dislike for passivity came from Pansy, who still left Draco feeling like a piece of dung for how many mistakes he’d made because of it. There was likely more than he realized. 

“I like knowing where I stand with someone,” Draco said. “If someone’s just going along because they don’t want to have an argument, or they don’t want to disappoint me or make me angry, then how would I know if I’m doing right by them? I wouldn’t worry about it, anyway. It’s something I like about you, that you’re assertive. If we’re having a good time, I know it’s real. You’re not miserable and just putting up with me because you think you have to.” 

Dagmar nodded. “Anything else?” 

“I don’t know, the usual stuff. I don’t want someone that just picks fights for the hell of it, or doesn’t take care of themselves, or wouldn’t know a joke if it sprayed bubotuber pus in their face, or didn’t have a sense of direction, or plays games, or is disrespectful, or can’t carry a conversation, or always has a black cloud over them.” 

Lips pursed and eyes narrowed, Dagmar gave him a shrewd look. 

“What?” Draco asked. 

“Other than taking care of your appearance and being able to carry a conversation, a lot of those traits are ones _you_ possess,” Dagmar said. “You pick fights all the time. Your sense of humour tends to rely on punching down on people you think are inferior. You don’t have a direction in life. You play games, you’re disrespectful, and you’re miserable most of the time.” 

It was Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes. His cheeks warmed as well. 

“Did I miss one?” Dagmar asked. 

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying not to be like that,” Draco ground out. 

“I’ve noticed.” Dagmar nodded. “A couple weeks of being a good boy versus how many years of _that_ , though? You’ve got a long ways to go before those things aren’t associated with you anymore.” 

Draco took a deep breath, easing back the defensive anger that had risen within him. 

“I’m not interested in being your new mum,” Dagmar told him. “I’m also not interested in being on the receiving end of how cruel you can be. I respect myself too much for that. I know what I deserve.” 

“Okay.” Draco had to hold back anything more that that. Whatever he said, there wasn’t any justification for his behaviour over the years. The closest thing to it was that Pansy liked him that way, so he never had any motivation to change. Rather, Pansy encouraged him to not only continue as he was, but get worse. 

“I’ll give you credit where it’s due,” Dagmar kept on. “That you’ve at least managed a couple weeks without acting like a pompous fool shows you have some degree of self-control.” 

“I’m trying,” Draco said. “I’m happier that way, so that makes it easier than I thought it would be.” 

“It’s almost as if not spreading misery around keeps you from getting stuck right in the middle of it.” 

Dagmar smiled when Draco looked at her. 

“It’s one of those things in life where you get what you give,” she said. 

“I can’t change anything about who I’ve been or what I’ve done,” Draco told her. “It’s nothing to do with you acting like my mum. You don’t have to babysit me or punish me if I do something you don’t like.” 

“Difference is your mum is always your mum. I can choose to leave anytime.” 

The reminder reintroduced a familiar stone to Draco’s stomach.

“I know,” he said.

“There’s a saying that the best apology is changed behaviour.” Dagmar tucked some hair behind her ear. “So even if you have a long ways to go, you’re at least moving in the right direction. I’ve liked who you are when you actually try to be pleasant. I just hope you weren’t acting to try and make me think there was potential for change, and then string me along once I’m invested.” 

“You’d probably trust time more on that than my word.” 

“True enough.” 

Draco could expect that. It made him nervous, especially for when he went back to school because he would be right back in the same environment that encouraged him to act that way in the first place. At least that group would be one less with Pansy out of the picture. How long would his mates care to hang out with him if they no longer had common ground? Rather, how long would Draco care to hang out with _them?_

Draco had to start thinking about the rest of his life, though. When he finished studying at Hogwarts, was he more concerned about keeping company of the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, or would he rather have his potential marriage? It was nobody’s fault but Draco’s that those two choices were incompatible. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dagmar asked. 

“That I’m going to be pretty alone this year at Hogwarts, if I don’t hang out with my old mates.” 

“What about Theodore and Blaise?”

“Hm.” That Draco had other choices in his year made him feel marginally better. It also depended on how Blaise took the prospect of not marrying Dagmar now that Draco would. “I don’t suppose you and I would hang out, would we?” 

“Don’t know.”

It was better than a no.

“So what about you?” Draco took a silence between them as opportunity to change the subject. “Deal breakers?” 

“I think I made it clear we were on the same page for everything we’ve discussed so far.” Dagmar paused. “I find it interesting that you didn’t list infidelity as one.” 

“We don’t even know what fidelity will look like for us, so it’s different,” Draco said. “I think we’re on the same page emotionally but. . .who knows, otherwise.” 

He expected her to be as awkward as him bringing up the idea of sex. That Dagmar didn’t shy away or grow red in the face made Draco wonder if she even knew what he meant by ‘otherwise’. 

“Figuring that out will take time,” Dagmar agreed. “Fidelity’s another thing that not having five years to think about will put us back on. I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll at least say that we’ll make sure we’re both happy.” 

“Sure.” 

Draco was curious about what kind of experience Dagmar even had, but maybe this wasn’t the time to ask. It wouldn’t become relevant unless that was something they started considering for themselves. 

“So infidelity’s a deal breaker, then?” Draco asked, just for clarity. 

“I think like you said.” Dagmar looked over at him. “If we’re incompatible or just decide against it and have some sort of arrangement, that would be the parameters of fidelity, wouldn’t it?” 

Draco thought back to his black book. “It’s all about consent.” 

“Exactly. People consent to a lot, but nobody consents to being cheated on.”

“Is that your only deal breaker, then?” 

Dagmar hesitated. When Draco looked at her, she had her bottom lip pulled back between her teeth. She’d turned nervous, which in turn made Draco nervous. For her to feel vulnerable had to mean she had something bigger on her mind. 

“There’re a couple things I won’t budge on,” she said. “Well, I guess one I won’t budge on, and a big one I’d have to ask of you.” 

“What are they?”

“I don’t want kids,” Dagmar told him. “At all.” 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up before he could help it. “Really?” 

Dagmar shook her head. 

“Because of me, or. . .?”

“Nei, I already decided before this. Is that something you wanted?”

“Actually, I’m kind of relieved.” A lingering cloud from his days with Pansy that had since grown invisible lifted itself from Draco’s shoulders. “I don’t want to speak ill about Pansy, but I couldn’t call myself happy whenever the discussion came up. She wanted more than a few. I can go either way on it, but that freaked me out a little.” 

Dagmar studied Draco. “You’re not just saying that, right? To make this work?” 

“No, I mean it. It’s fine. I wouldn’t know how to be a father anyway. Look at how _my_ father’s son turned out.” 

What was meant as a joke earned Draco a brief look of pity instead, after which Dagmar pressed her lips together. 

“The other deal breaker?” Draco prompted her. 

“I never want to be married to a Death Eater.” 

Draco nodded. “Okay.” 

“Did you intend to join?” 

“No. I like myself in one piece, thanks.” 

Dagmar laughed which, however short and dry, did leaps for easing the air between them. On the back of this conversation, Draco couldn’t help but think that maybe their parents’ decision to pair them up wasn’t based entirely on conjecture and the Dark Lord’s opinion. 

“I feel better,” Dagmar said after another period of silence, this one more comfortable than the ones preceding it. “What about you?” 

“Yeah.” Draco let out a sigh. “I was honestly pretty sure you were bringing me out here to tell me there was no way in hell.” 

“I’m willing to try.” Dagmar folded her arms and offered up a brief, bashful smile. “There’re still a couple more years until we’d be expected to get married. And even then, if we didn’t feel ready, I wouldn’t be opposed to putting it off. What about you? I don’t think anyone could blame us for waiting.” 

“Sure.” The relief Draco felt to have not been rejected made him pliable. 

“And if it doesn’t work out. . .” Dagmar shrugged. “I guess we’d know by then, wouldn’t we?” 

“Two years isn’t a lot compared to seven, but it’s still enough to figure out whether you like someone that much.” 

“Ja.” 

Dagmar brought them to a stop on the lane. The trees around them had thinned out some. 

“Should we start back?” she asked.


	8. Results and Progress

Her conversation with Draco helped to make the situation feel all the more real to Dagmar. Her biggest concerns showed promise on being addressed, and Draco took them seriously. Of course, his attitude issues would most likely always be a work in progress, but since the two of them shared similar ideals when it came to kids and affiliation with You-Know-Who, Dagmar didn’t have anything she couldn’t work with. 

That both overwhelmed and relieved her. If Draco had been adamant about either having children or receiving the Dark Mark, then Dagmar could’ve just said it wouldn’t work and move on. Depending on what had come of Blaise from all this, Dagmar could either defer to old plans or just forsake her parents altogether and go her own way. She would be a legal adult in a little over a month, and could easily spend all the holidays at Hogwarts until she was truly on her own. Even without her family’s gold, Dagmar could manage. She had two years of apprenticeship for her career choice after finishing her NEWTs, and then she’d have a job that could take her literally anywhere in the world. 

It was a nice thought other than the fact it would crush Dagmar to completely cut contact with her parents. She also wasn’t sure if it would make her a target for You-Know-Who. With Draco, it might just be possible to have the best of both worlds. Dagmar could still honour her family by participating in this arranged marriage, but then if she and Draco kept an arm’s length between themselves and their families’ activities, some kind of middle-ground could be achieved. 

That it was possible meant Dagmar acquiesced to the prospect of the arranged marriage moving forward. In a couple years, she would be a Malfoy. Dagmar laid in bed after she and Draco returned to the manor and ran the name repeatedly through her mind, trying to make it sound right to her: _Dagmar Malfoy._

Although she and Draco were approaching this as casually as possible, there was still a lot of pressure on them. Dagmar felt it in a sudden, unpleasant swoop of her stomach the next morning when she headed downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. She hadn’t seen Draco out of his room for days, so running into him here hadn’t been on her mind. 

He was quietly flipping through an open book at the far end of the table, his spoon forgotten halfway between his cereal and mouth. Milk dripped from the silver utensil back into the bowl. 

Draco looked up. “Oh, hey.” 

“Morning.” With only a slight hesitation that Draco missed since he looked back down at his book, Dagmar bypassed the table end for the seat closest to him. 

She leaned forward, chin up so that she could see what held Draco’s interest. “What’re you reading?” 

“I was thinking—” 

“Oh?” 

Draco met her amused grin with raised eyebrows, the merest glint of humour beneath them allowing Dagmar her jest. 

“ _I was thinking_ ,” Draco repeated with emphasis, “about how we’d said after coming back from Nice that we might like to go somewhere else. I’m trying to get some ideas.” 

Neesy the house elf showed up then to ask Dagmar her breakfast preferences. When she’d popped back off, Dagmar slid her chair closer toward the table corner that separated her from Draco. She leaned on her elbow, bracing her jaw as she studied the places advertised. 

“I’m leery about another day trip,” Dagmar said. “It was a lot more hassle than I expected to get there, and then once we did, we only had a couple hours to really enjoy ourselves.” 

“That’s true.” Draco nodded. “It was exhausting for such a short go.” 

Dagmar studied him. “Thoughts on a longer trip? A few days, maybe?” 

“Stay overnight, you mean?” 

“Ja, why not?” Dagmar shrugged. “You’re of-age, I’m almost there, we’re betrothed. Our parents aren’t going to tell us no.” 

A plate appeared before Dagmar, prompting her to sit up straighter so that she wouldn’t squish her smørbrød with her elbow. She turned her plate so that the open sandwich she intended to start with was closest. 

Draco’s nose wrinkled. “ _What_ is that?” 

“Probably the pickled herring and onions you’re smelling,” Dagmar replied. “I’d like more time somewhere than just what it takes to go shopping. I’d wanted to see museums and all that in Nice. Since we’ve already been there now, though, I’m not all that inclined to return.”

“Me neither. I want to see somewhere new again.” Draco turned the page on his book. He retained a disgusted expression due to the acidic fish Dagmar ate, making him look constipated. “What do you think about, ah. . .” 

Draco looked up along with Dagmar when there was a light tapping against the dining room window. Two handsome tawny owls peered in at them. 

“Oh!” Dagmar forgot her smørbrød and leapt up. “Our exam results are here!”

She ignored a groan from Draco as she passed him by to open the window. The owls swooped in and landed on the table. One of their feathers fluttered into Draco’s cereal. He picked it out with a renewed wrinkle in his nose. 

Dagmar had untied the thick envelope from her delivery owl before Draco even started on his. Addressed to her in the dining room at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, she eagerly ripped it open. There were four pieces of parchment inside. The top one was from Professor McGonagall welcoming her back to Hogwarts for her seventh year. The second had her required book list. The third, her final grades for sixth year: 

_O Transfiguration  
_ _O Charms  
_ _O Potions  
_ _E History of Magic  
_ _O Defence Against the Dark Arts  
_ _O Herbology  
_ _O Arithmancy  
_ _E Astronomy_

Dagmar frowned. “Damn it. Hermione will have done better than this.” 

Draco wasn’t paying attention. He was still working on getting into his envelope in the first place. Dagmar looked at the fourth piece of parchment and let her eyebrows rise in slight surprise as she read it over. She hadn’t expected to earn the leadership position for study hall. 

“How’d you do?” she asked Draco. 

“Not bad,” he replied. “Passed everything, but I’ll have to pick up a bit.” 

“Can I see?” 

Draco’s cheeks tinged pink. He hesitated before holding the parchment out. “Trade.” 

Dagmar handed hers over without a second thought. 

_E Transfiguration  
_ _E Charms  
_ _O Potions  
_ _O Defence Against the Dark Arts  
_ _A Herbology  
_ _O Care of Magical Creatures_

“You did as good as me in Potions and Defence,” Dagmar commented. Draco held his hand out to take his mark sheet back but Dagmar wasn’t done with it. There was something more interesting on it than what overlap she and Draco had managed. “You got an O in Care of Magical Creatures.” 

“Apparently.” 

“How?” Dagmar frowned. “You’re still taking that class? I thought you would’ve dropped it after OWL year.”

Draco twitched his extended fingers. “Can I have that back?” 

Dagmar handed it over this time, taking note of renewed colour in Draco’s cheeks, stronger than before. She walked around the table to resume her seat and continue on with her breakfast. 

“You can’t enjoy it,” Dagmar mused. “Hagrid means well, but his classes were horrible. I only got an E on my OWL because I wasn’t prepared. Do you stay in it for how easy the class and exams are when it’s _not_ OWL or NEWT year? Is that how you got the O?” 

“Maybe it is.” Draco folded his parchment back together and tried to shove it into the envelope it’d come in. He was having trouble making both corners go. “Doesn’t explain the O on my OWLs, though.” 

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose. “You got an O in the Care of Magical Creatures OWL? The only person I thought managed that was Hermione.” 

“Turns out maybe I know things about magical creatures. I just didn’t learn it from Hagrid.” Although he resisted against it at first, Draco’s lips turned up into a smirk. “You should’ve seen his face when I showed up for the first lesson at the beginning of the year. Thought I got lost. Then you should’ve _really_ seen his face when he looked at the roster and saw my O.” 

“I’m sure you were very proud of yourself.” Dagmar cast him a smile before putting her next cut piece of smørbrød in her mouth. “And you had every right to be. Clearly you worked hard for it.” 

“Yeah.” 

Draco’s answers still didn’t completely satisfy Dagmar’s curiosity. There was something else he wasn’t telling her. 

“Are you taking it this year?” she asked. “The NEWT will be murder.” 

“I’m not too worried about it.” Draco gave up on fitting the parchment back into the envelope. Since he was done with his cereal on account of the still-wet owl feather sitting next to his bowl, he unfolded his marks again to look over. “I need to pull up Herbology and Charms.”

“How come?” Dagmar pressed. “What do you even need these marks for? I didn’t think you had any plans when school ended.” 

“Because I coast, right?” 

His resolve withered when Dagmar studied him, eyes narrowed in thought. 

“You’re being way too defensive for something so silly,” she told him. “What exactly are you trying to hide? What could possibly be so embarrassing that you won’t even tell me?”

“It’s not that it’s embarrassing. I just don’t appreciate how casually you look down your nose at me.” 

“You did well,” Dagmar replied. “I promise I’m not looking down my nose at you.” 

“Yes you are. You’re surprised I could do well in anything.” 

“I’d argue you _like_ that I’m surprised. It means you’re smarter than I thought you were, or that you work harder. I’d apologize for making you feel bad if I thought that’s actually what was going on here. You’re deflecting. What don’t you want to tell me? What are your plans for after graduation?” 

Draco narrowed his eyes. 

Smiling as means for encouragement, Dagmar poked him lightly in the arm. “How long can you reasonably keep me in suspense? ‘We’ve been married thirty years, but nei, he still won’t tell me what he does for work’. _Honestly_.” 

Draco snorted before straightening himself back out. With that, he’d lost the debate and he knew it. He released a long exhale through his nose, lips pursed as he considered Dagmar anew. “I’d like to be a dragonologist.” 

Dagmar threw her hands up, expression deadpan. “That’s so cool. Why would you be embarrassed about that?” 

Her words had the opposite effect as they were intended. Draco’s cheeks darkened deeper yet and he wouldn’t look at her as he ran the tip of his left pointing finger in circles on the tabletop. He mumbled something of which Dagmar only caught, “. . .might think it was stupid.” 

“Draco, it’s _dragons_. Cool by default. This is an objective fact.” 

“Depends if I get it.” Draco turned more sullen as he looked over his marks again. “I need an O in Charms and an E in Herbology. I’d be a prat if everyone knew I was trying for this and then I failed.” 

“Your grades aren’t so bad that you couldn’t come up with a suitable back up plan. It’s not like you’d ever suffer anyway. I sincerely doubt your parents are going to let you live in squalor or sleep on the streets.” 

“No, but. . .” 

Dagmar understood, as a fellow ambitious Slytherin. 

“That’s really not much to bring up.” Dagmar tried a different approach. “One grade level for each? I’ve seen bigger turn-arounds than that. Besides, there are resources at Hogwarts to help you. You happen to be sitting with the new head of study hall.” 

“Oh, so you could lift my ban?” 

“Doubt it,” Dagmar immediately replied, “but I could take you on myself.”

Draco hid his delight for the prospect behind a new smirk. “What marks did you get again? Are you sure you’re qualified?” 

“Take it or leave it, smartarse.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

Dagmar cut herself another piece of smørbrød, thinking. “You ever been to Norway?” 

“Nope.” 

“We should go to Bergen,” Dagmar suggested. “The Jotunheimen Dragon Reserve is only about a hundred-and-fifty miles away. We could take some brooms and head up there one day for a tour.” 

“Bergen’s nearby there?” Draco’s spine straightened. “I thought it was closer to Oslo.” 

“Implying there’s much distance between Bergen and Oslo.” Dagmar resisted reaching over to. . .touch or nudge Draco, she couldn’t decide which would be more appropriate. “They’re about the same distance away.” 

“Well, there’s nothing about Spain or Italy that catch my attention anymore.” Draco shut the travel book he had with a loud _fwump_. “Did you want to go by broom or floo powder?” 

“If it wasn’t over five-hundred miles as the owl flies, broom could be interesting.” Dagmar pushed her empty plate forward. “The floo network would be best.” 

“When do you want to go?” 

“Doesn’t matter to me.” His excitement was contagious, especially for Dagmar to go back to Bergen for the first time in several years. “Today even, if we can get packed up. Travel there in time for dinner, then tomorrow we could start fresh.” 

“We could plan it up in my room, if you like,” Draco offered. 

Dagmar followed Draco up the dining room stairs. She left his door open and headed for the chair she’d sat in the day Draco told her about their arrangement. Draco busied himself at the bedside for a moment, dropping a little black book into his bedside table and then closing the drawer. He joined her at his desk with a fresh piece of parchment and a quill. 

“So what’s there worth seeing in Bergen?” he asked. 

His hand dashed over the parchment as Dagmar came up with a list of places that she remembered. Wizarding history ran deep in Bergen. As both a child and resident, most of it had gone over Dagmar’s head. She was aware of the most popular inn’s location, since her family would arrive there by floo if they ever came into the city from their house. There were a couple wizarding museums, one that honoured the families who lived there before Muggles—most of which still lived there today. The other was more focused on the magical creatures that occupied the area before Muggles could ever hope to settle. Dragons, giants, and mountain trolls had dominated the southwestern coastline. 

There were always shops too, of course. Most were historical, having been run for over nine-hundred years. The wand-maker Agneta Torgensen was who Dagmar had received hers from. The Lyng brothers, while obscure in Britain, were highly relevant to the greater European wizarding world of fashion. Over half the clothes in Dagmar’s closet were imported from their shop. 

“Then there’s the fjords and the dragon reserve. . .” Dagmar trailed off. “Looking at that list, how long are we going to be there? We could cut it down if you like. I’m sure not all of that is going to be things that interest you.” 

“As if I’m any authority over a city you used to live in.” Jaw rested in his hand, Draco smirked anew. “I’ll go wherever you want. It’s a good opportunity to get to know you better away from the prying eyes of this manor.”

Dagmar snorted.

“It left a big impression on you,” Draco continued. “It’s clearly stayed a big part of who you are.” 

“My mum was more of a socialite back then than she is now.” Dagmar pulled one of her legs up on the chair. “I used to go with her everywhere. I’ve spent most my time in Britain at Hogwarts, so that’s the only culture I’m overly familiar with here.”

“I get that.” Draco held the parchment up. “Looking at this I’d say we could take as short as a few days if we wanted to rush through it all, or we could go as long as a week and take our time. Do you have a preference?” 

“Take our time,” Dagmar replied. “It’s like you said, it’s a good opportunity to spend some time together, and to get away from here for a while. What would we be rushing back to?”

“Nothing I can think of.” 

“Do you have more parchment?” Dagmar asked. “I should write a note to my parents about where we went and where to find us if there’s an emergency. We should just stay at Den Sultne Jotunn, since it’s easy to get to and central to everything.” 

“I might as well write a note too. I would rather Mum not make this weird by turning it into a big deal if I told her to her face.” 

“Everything’s going to be a big deal for a little while.” Dagmar accepted the quill Draco offered, and dipped it in the open ink well. “The excitement that they got their way should wear off soon enough.”

When Dagmar was finished writing, she compared her letter to Draco’s. They didn’t vary by much, and his was as reserved as hers in specifying their reasons for going. There was enough to tell from it just by the circumstances. Dagmar left her letter with Draco while she went to her room to pack. A week’s worth of clothes went into a bag, as well as her pocket money. 

Draco was still working at it when Dagmar went to check in on him. She rapped her knuckles against his door frame to announce herself. 

“How’s it coming along?” she asked. 

“Good, but how much money do I need?” 

“I just budgeted ten galleons a day,” Dagmar said. “It’ll be more than enough, but you don’t want to run out.” 

“No.”

“I’ll also need to borrow a broom if you have an extra one lying around.” 

Dagmar grabbed her things and headed down to the dining room. Draco came down the stairs shortly after with his bag. Together, they headed out into the manor’s attached storage shed. Dagmar hesitated before accepting Draco’s Nimbus 2001. She let out a low, quiet whistle when he brought a Firebolt out of the cupboard next. 

“When did you get that?” she asked. “You weren’t riding it when we played Hufflepuff.” 

“Birthday present from Mum and Father.” Draco admired it with a smile. “I would’ve liked it early, but we didn’t end up needing it, did we?” 

“Not particularly, but it’s a lucky thing you caught the snitch.” Dagmar squinted as she and Draco walked back out into the bright yard. “Once Bletchley lost his nerve, things went a little downhill.” 

“Yeah.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “I’d hoped when he tried out that he’d be as good as his brother. Miles had written to me about it. Last time I take advice on who gets a place on the team. I’ll rely solely on tryouts this year.” 

“Any strategies you’ve been working on to put us over Gryffindor?” Dagmar asked. “I don’t mean to put any pressure on, but it would be nice to see us win the Cup at least once while we’re at school.” 

“I’ve been working on some,” Draco said. “There hasn’t been a whole lot else to do this summer.” 

“Oh, so _that’s_ what you’ve been doing in your room,” Dagmar remarked as she stepped back into the dining room off the back terrace. “I thought you said you weren’t studying. Doesn’t that count?” 

“Technically, I guess, but it doesn’t feel like work to me.” 

Dagmar ran a hand down the inside of Draco’s arm. He jerked it away before looking back at her. 

“Sorry.” Dagmar balled her hand, cheeks warm. She hadn’t expected him to react that way to her touch, even if an overpowering sense of endearment had mindlessly compelled her to reach out. 

“Don’t be.” Draco leaned his Firebolt against the table. “I thought something had come in with us from the garden.” 

Still embarrassed, Dagmar tried to smile through the awkwardness that descended between them. Before it had a chance to edge toward excruciating, Draco picked up his bag.

“Nothing left to do but put our notes out,” he said. Whether from what happened or from bending over, Draco’s cheeks had gone pink too.

Dagmar felt an ebbing pull of doubt as she set the envelope addressed to her parents on the table next to Draco’s. So far through this entire thing, she and him had been on mostly the same page. That was fine for getting along in general, but maybe that was all they’d ever see eye to eye on. Maybe that was as far as their chemistry went. 

That it bothered Dagmar created a new need to pause. Did worrying Draco might not ever come to see her as more than that necessarily mean she expected it? Dagmar wasn’t sure quite yet. It was too early to be certain, especially on this side of their trip to Bergen. She might know a more definitive answer by the end of the week. 

In front of the fireplace, Draco held out the canister of floo powder to Dagmar. “Meet up in London?” 

Dagmar nodded. “I’ll see you there.”


	9. Bergen

Dagmar stepped out of one of the arrival fireplaces in London’s Grand Floo Junction. She scanned the immediate area for anyone that she might know from school, and who might possibly recognize the broom she held in her hand as belonging to damning company. Draco had shown tremendous restraint against acting like a git, although even if that was a long-term change, nobody else had motivation quite like Dagmar did to try and see him in a different light. 

Nobody from school was around, but that did little to ease Dagmar’s guilt. Draco was a certain fixture in her future, and her in his. Did the rest of it matter? Who, after all, could someone count on if not their partner in marriage? 

Draco stepped out of the fireplace behind her, his hair blown asunder. Its fine nature allowed it to already start falling back into place. He looked around at the signposts while meandering to a stop at Dagmar’s side. 

“If the mainland Europe connections are that way, then we have to go _this_ way,” he told her with a jerk of his head back to the left of where they’d shown up. Sure enough, at the end of the arrival fireplaces, there was a signpost pointing them left again toward Norway, Sweden, Iceland, and Finland’s connections. 

Dagmar pushed back all of the strange emotions that had suddenly come down on her. “Bergen should be a direct one.”

There were four: Bergen and Oslo for southern Norway, Trondheim for the centre, and Tromsø for the northern part. Through Bergen, they came out in an enclosed room. Other fireplaces were labeled with destinations—Hagsund, Stavanger, and Kristiansand—but they had arrived precisely where they wanted to be. Through a break in the wall was the mid-afternoon lull as experienced by Den Sultne Jotunn Inn.

The inn stood three levels high in its foyer. There was a water fountain in the centre fit with a lifelike island. Its basin glinted with the colours of several different coins from different currencies around the world. In keeping with tradition, Dagmar dug a knut out of her pocket and tossed it in. 

The coin twisted and turned on its way through the water to the base. When it landed, the island in the centre shifted. It rose from the water, revealing underneath it a head like an old, wizened turtle. 

“Ah,” it said in a low, croaky voice. “British.” 

Then it reassumed its initial position. 

Draco regarded it with parted lips and a furrowed brow. “Is that real?” 

“Can’t be,” Dagmar said. “Hafgufen can be anywhere from the size of a whale to a small island.” 

“Never heard of them,” Draco commented as they moved on past. His gaze stuck to the unassuming island fixture. 

“They’re very rare.” Dagmar led him toward the front desk. “It’s hard to tell you’ve found one out at sea until it wakes up and starts to move around. Tickles them, see, when you walk on their back. They don’t feel you if they’re large enough, and then they just get mistaken for an actual island.” 

The witch working at the desk gave them a broad smile as they approached. Grey hairs streaked through her otherwise light brown, curly hair. Her skin saw no such similar sign toward aging. 

“Hello, and welcome to Bergen,” she spoke in English. “Do you need accommodations, or just a currency exchange?”

“Both,” Dagmar replied. “Two rooms for a week, to start.” 

Sigrid, as indicated by her name-tag, opened a large tome of a book in front of her on the counter. The pages creaked as she turned them. The writing was minuscule across an expansive graph, which Sigrid ran her fingers over until she reached behind her for a couple separate keys. 

“That’ll be five romer each,” she told them. “You have galleons? That’ll be, let’s see. . .” 

Sixteen galleons and twelve sickles settled both bills. The keys’ rings hung around Sigrid’s left middle finger as she dipped a quill to use on the massive registration book. She paused before writing Dagmar’s surname. 

“Ramstad,” she repeated it to herself. “I remember there being some around here years back. You wouldn’t be related to them, would you?” 

“I am.” Dagmar brightened. “That would’ve been me and my parents. We moved to Britain back in 1990.”

“If I’d known you were Hildegard’s daughter, I would’ve recognized you sooner,” Sigrid said. “You look just like her. She used to come through here all the time. My, you’ve grown too.”

“Sure have.” Dagmar had been the tallest girl in Slytherin since fifth year.

Sigrid looked to Draco next. “This must be one of your friends from Hogwarts.”

“Ja, this is Draco,” Dagmar introduced him. 

“Draco,” Sigrid repeated his name as she wrote it in her guest register. “Surname?” 

Sigrid handed their keys over once they were both down. A wizard came over to escort them upstairs, relieving them both of their bags. Up on the second landing overlooking the lobby, he led them to the end above the desk. 

“Furthest away from the bar, here,” he said to Dagmar in Norwegian. “You shouldn’t hear too much.” 

He showed Dagmar into hers first, setting her bag on the provided desk. She gave him her half of the tip and looked out the window at the street below. Den Sultne Jotunn overlooked Bergen Havn, squeezed in between a couple Muggle shops on Bryggen Wharf. Hardly a piece of stone or wood was visible along the walkway because of the crowds. Dagmar and Draco were far from the only people drawn here today. 

Dagmar caught movement out the corner of her eye. She looked over at her room’s door before Draco had a chance to rap his knuckles against it. They came to rest against it instead. 

“Did you want to do something, or just rest for a bit?” he asked. “Getting here wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” 

“We could do something relaxing,” Dagmar suggested. “There’s a good mountain trail out back.” 

With Draco’s agreement, the two of them changed into more suitable footwear. The trails up Mount Fløyen weren’t highly intense, but enough so that the sandals Dagmar arrived to Bergen in were questionable. 

Dagmar was ready first. She waited outside Draco’s room for him. She let out a little chuckle at the slight shininess of his skin due to Sunshield Potion. “Looks like someone learned his lesson, hm?”

“The last thing I want to spend this week doing is being laid up in bed,” Draco replied. “I can do that well enough at home. I’m bringing extra too, just in case.” 

“Me too. And money for a water canteen.” 

“I didn’t think of that, but I have the money regardless.” 

Debating logistics along the landing toward the stairs helped Dagmar calm down from earlier. She still wasn’t even entirely sure what had come over her. She supposed that until she and Draco grew more secure with each other, fits of doubt would come and go. She wondered if he experienced the same thing. 

Like the Leaky Cauldron did Diagon Alley in London, Den Sultne Jotunn hid Trollmannsgaten from Muggle view to the rear. If Dagmar didn’t have somewhere in mind that she and Draco were going, she would’ve been sucked in far beyond the time it took to buy an Alltid-Kaldt Kanister. Her and Draco’s step still slowed as they passed by each of the various shops. Because Draco didn’t speak the local language and some of the shops’ purposes weren’t clear at first glance, he nearly came to complete stops at times. Witches and wizards had to zigzag around him, prompting Dagmar to reach out for his wrist. She stopped shy when she remembered how he’d reacted earlier to her touch, which incited a ghost of her nerves. 

“Sorry,” Draco apologized when he realized she was waiting for him again. “It’s all a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” 

“It is.” Dagmar nodded in agreement. “If we hadn’t originally been looking to relax, I’d suggest we just stick around here. What do you think?” 

Draco thought about it while looking in on a sweets shop. “No, I’d rather come back here when it’s less busy.”

His eyes had unfocused due to the absolute deluge of stimulation. The alley clashed with every colour under the sun, the din of patrons and various noisy shops, and then the foreign language. Even though Dagmar didn’t struggle with the last one, it was still all a little bit too much. If she hadn’t just travelled from southern Britain, it might not be so bad. 

It thinned out the further northeast they moved. The crowd gradually shifted from magical folk to Muggles, which drew Draco yet again to a slow stop. 

“There are Muggles going into those wizard shops,” he pointed out.

“The line here is murky where the two worlds get separated,” Dagmar explained. “So much of Bergen’s history is rooted in the magical community that the Muggles have come to think of it as their own without realizing what it was. There’s a list in a guidebook somewhere that details which shops are wizard-themed Muggle shops, and which are Muggle-themed wizarding shops. Unless you live here, it’s hard to tell the difference on your own.” 

“There’s a lot more segregation in Britain.” While still looking at a Muggle beauty shop that had ‘Witch’ in the name, Draco started on again in Dagmar’s wake. Its patrons were certainly dressed strangely enough that they might qualify for magical folk, were their outfits not so well-coordinated. 

“Bergen’s a little special since magic has had such an influence over early-Muggle culture,” Dagmar said. “You’ll see where we’re going, the Muggles are really quite cheeky. There’s a troll garden, and along the trail you can see signs barring witches from flying in the region.” 

“They know about the trolls that used to be here?” Draco asked. 

“Well, not exactly.” Dagmar flashed him an amused smile. “Trolls are a prime staple of Norwegian Muggle folklore. You see a lot of it celebrated here, and maybe if you asked a Muggle why that is, they wouldn’t be able to tell you anything other than that’s just the way things are. It’s culture, what’s there to explain? _How_ do you explain culture?”

Draco pursed his lips, thoughtful. “I guess that’s not easy to do if you don’t have anything to compare it to.” 

“Even then,” Dagmar replied. “I feel quite confident I know how Norwegian culture differs from British culture, but other than giving examples of that, I couldn’t really explain either. It’s just something you have to live. You have to see it for yourself. Then you get it, but you still won’t find the words for it. It’s too big.” 

“I never really thought wizarding culture differed much from region to region other than the obvious ways,” Draco said. “Food, language, clothes, and that was pretty much it. I guess now that I’m thinking about it, Mum and Father never really took me anywhere _too_ different. The farthest we ever went from home was Greece. Even then, Father never wanted to venture too far. Eastern Europe is a little—how did he put it, now?— _feral_ for his tastes.” 

“We should get married in Russia then, or something.” Dagmar nudged Draco. “Force him out of his comfort zone.” 

The fleeting uncertainty that Dagmar may have crossed a line yet again dissipated when Draco merely chuckled and cast her a fond glance. 

“He was fine with me possibly going to Durmstrang,” Draco said. “I’m glad Mum stepped in on that, in hindsight. I was excited when Father first suggested it, but Russian is the primary teaching language there. I would’ve been entirely out of my element.” 

“I think it would’ve been really good for you. Your ego might have gotten a necessary check when you were younger.” 

“I’d argue whether it was necessary, but other than that you’re certainly not wrong.” 

Dagmar scoffed. 

“You don’t seem to think I’m so intolerable lately,” Draco pointed out.

“Lately,” Dagmar repeated for emphasis. “Confidence is universally a good thing. You have that. Unearned confidence is arrogance, though, and you also definitely have that.” 

“So I’ve been told, by many a mudblood.” 

The term jarred Dagmar, for it’d been some time now by Draco’s standards that she heard it come out of his mouth. It bothered her enough to sap whatever contentedness she’d felt in the moment. Their conversation died and Dagmar looked anywhere that didn’t include Draco in her field of vision. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Draco eventually said. 

It was a non-apology. There was a note of regret there, but was that for spurning the majority of magical folk as inferior, or just for killing such a good mood between them?

“I won’t lie, that attitude is a complete turn-off,” Dagmar replied. “I can’t change what you believe, but I like you a lot better when you’re not being rude.” 

He didn’t have anything to say to that, which Dagmar didn’t mind in the slightest. A response of any kind turned her stance into a debate. Perhaps Draco knew as well as her that it would go nowhere productive nor good in terms of their tentatively-budding partnership. As far as Dagmar was concerned, the only wiggle room they had in this difference of opinion was if Draco changed his. She never would in his favour, but Dagmar had been under the impression that some of the things she’d said about Draco’s attitude stuck. He hadn’t liked that she pointed out how he coasted through life. That detail depended on how for families like the Malfoys, nothing mattered except for the purity of blood. If Draco so detested being told he lacked ambition, it’s too bad he hadn’t reflected on where that may have originated from. 

The residential streets they navigated to reach the walking trail eventually tapered to an end. An increase in elevation started a burn in Dagmar’s calves. As she and Draco began their ascent into Hesten Trenger Hvile, she glanced over at him. He’d gone surly and long-faced.

“Not that you probably believe me now,” Draco said as they reached the first turn on the trail, “but I have been trying to be more mindful.” 

Dagmar nodded, albeit stiffly. “I’ve noticed.” 

“It slipped out. You won’t hear it again.” 

A hefty promise, but an impressive one if Draco could keep it. Dagmar didn’t have much confidence he would, but that he even tried to improve took the edge off the disenchantment that had suddenly blanketed her. At least their awkwardness from that morning had been overshadowed. 

Dagmar took a deep breath. “Okay.” 

For the sake of moving on, Dagmar did her best to take Draco at his word. He really had made a measurable improvement in attitude in a short amount of time. In context of the conversation, it could’ve been an easy slip for him. 

“Are we good?” Draco asked. “I’m dying over here.” 

“I’m sure it doesn’t kill you to feel the consequences of being a right git,” Dagmar said. “We’re good so long as you keep that promise. Like I said, I can’t change what you believe. I won’t tolerate you acting like that around me, though.” 

“That much is clear. Must be a record for me. I’ve never brought a conversation from one-hundred to zero that fast before.” 

Dagmar buffered his attempt at a joke with a blasé shrug. “I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“Ouch.” 

The air between them thankfully cleared in time for them to arrive at one of the trail markers Dagmar had mentioned earlier. Draco had a good chuckle at the wooden sign with the silhouette of a stereotypical witch riding a broom inside a red circle. A red line cut through her. 

“So there’s nothing serious about this?” Draco jabbed a thumb at it. “A Muggle didn’t realize there was a wizarding community nearby and decide to put it up?” 

“Maybe they did.” Dagmar shrugged, smiling again. “Lots of good it did, in that case. Considering how harmonious the relationship here has been between us and the Muggles, I have a hard time believing it’s a serious attempt to let magical folk know they’re not allowed here. The closest thing might be putting the sign up as a tongue-in-cheek means of acknowledgement.”

“No one in the wizarding community thought it needed to go?” Some of Draco’s hair brushed against his forehead in the breeze that picked up. “That maybe it would hurt relations or something?” 

“Nah.” Dagmar waved it off. “Like I said, things are pretty amicable here. There aren’t any dark wizards roaming around to offset the balance like what we have back home. Even the really hoity-toity purebloods here wouldn’t tolerate it.” 

A shallow wrinkle came to Draco’s brow as he mulled it over. “Why won’t the purebloods here tolerate it?”

“If being pureblooded is as important as is to be believed, there’s nothing for them to prove,” Dagmar said as they carried on. “Say a dark wizard rose here. If it was someone that didn’t have a name they knew—like the Sacred Twenty-Eight in Britain—they’re just dismissed. If it’s someone they _did_ know, they’d just shun them for embarrassing the pureblooded community. There’s no dignity in what someone like the Dark Lord is doing.” 

Draco hummed. “I agree with that to a degree. The Dark Lord gives purebloods a bad name.” 

“If he’s even pureblooded,” Dagmar said. “Don’t you find it odd that there wasn’t anybody in any of the Twenty-Eight families that went missing around the same time the Dark Lord rose? Nobody as far as I know knows his birth name. He could be Muggle-born.” 

“Then why the focus on pure blood?” 

“Either he doesn’t really believe it and pureblood pride is easy to manipulate as means to an end, or he’s compensating.” Dagmar tucked some hair that came loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “Or both. I just personally don’t trust anyone that’s able to find fault or merit in something so arbitrary. What stops them from moving the goalposts? I wonder sometimes what my parents would do if the Dark Lord decided it wasn’t just purebloods he deems worthy, but strictly _British_ purebloods. Everyone thinks they’re an exception until they’re not, and then it’s too late.”


	10. Mount Fløyen

Every time Draco had these kinds of conversations with Dagmar, he came out of them heavy of mind. This one compounded the anxiety that resulted from killing Dagmar’s good mood. Draco had never seen the expression of a woman he was fond of go from happy to disgusted so quickly because of him. Even after they’d patched things, it played over and over in Draco’s mind. He never wanted to see that again. 

If what Dagmar said was right about the attitudes of purebloods in Norway, then Draco began to understand where her beliefs came from. If Draco happened to be born in Norway instead of Britain, would the pureblooded community consider him a disgrace? Would they shun him too? 

Draco had met plenty of prominent purebloods around Europe during travels with his parents. They were all family friends that shared his parents beliefs. Their status overshadowed all. At the end of the day, there were purebloods, and then everything else. Nothing else mattered. 

Visiting Bergen, Draco could feel just how sheltered his youth had been. Norway in general wasn’t even really all that different from Britain. Only the North Sea separated them. It never occurred to Draco why his parents didn’t bring him here, even though they had friends with connections in the city. Forget exposing their child to such attitudes, it would certainly have also challenged his parents’ as well. 

All of that on top of nobody speaking English around him on the trail kept Draco close to Dagmar. Wherever he’d gone in Europe, he never had to worry about that. His parents found the pockets that didn’t mind speaking their language to accommodate them.

The trail Draco and Dagmar followed didn’t have a high grade, but it made up for that by length. Sweat was dripping from Draco’s nose by the time it levelled off. He’d drank all of his water. Dagmar sat down on a picnic table in the shade, face gleaming, hair stringy, and the front of her shirt damp with sweat. She placed her canteen in the crook of her neck. 

Draco dropped down beside her. “Wasn’t that supposed to be an easy trail?” 

“It is,” Dagmar said. “We just suck.” 

Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket. There were people around, but he could hide it behind Dagmar. Her head lolled forward when he used it to redirect cool air onto her neck. 

“That’s nice,” she told him. “Thanks.” 

Once she’d cooled down, Draco dried them both off with a Cleansing Spell. Dagmar’s shirt smoked slightly in the sunlight afterward, giving her the appearance that she might yet burst into flames. 

“We made it to the top, anyway,” Draco said when he started to feel more rested. “What’s there to see?” 

Dagmar grinned and led him further away from the sliver of view they had of the city below. A few handfuls of people shared a clearing fit with minimal, thin trees, but since they were being quiet, it wasn’t so bad. The heads of what looked like forest trolls were situated on top of tree trunks. One troll, quite lifelike, was being investigated by a couple young boys perhaps no older than six. 

“I thought you said there were so many trolls in the area that Muggles couldn’t settle here until they were cleared out?” Draco asked. 

“Mountain trolls,” Dagmar corrected him. “Nasty ones, at that. Some of them bred in with giants. We call those jotunn, here. The forest trolls like that one there are small and easy to scare off. They don’t like loud, reverberating noises so lots of magical folk will carry bells with them when they go into the woods. The Muggles either figured this out or someone told them, because according to Muggle folklore, they’re afraid of church bells. Ja, but not for the reason they think.” 

“What troll?” Draco looked around. “You see one?” 

Dagmar pointed at the one the two boys inspected. Now that Draco looked closer, he could see what he thought was a life-size figurine trembling as it tried to hold its position. The two boys wouldn’t look away long enough for the troll to make a run for it. 

“It must have snuck out here earlier this morning to see what the crowds were like,” Dagmar said. “I’d feel bad for it if one didn’t lure me out into the forest when I was a kid.” 

“It did?” Draco’s eyes widened with mingled alarm and horror. “Why? What did it want?” 

“Food,” Dagmar replied matter-of-factly. “Find any magical child in this city, and guarantee they have cheese in their pocket. That’s how I got away. Threw mine and bolted.” 

Draco shuddered involuntarily. “Should we do something, then? Is that what we’re watching play out here?” 

“The kids would’ve already vanished.” Dagmar looked over at Draco. “The parents aren’t paying attention. Prime for the taking, especially since they’re so curious.” 

Regardless, Draco couldn’t stand there and watch it. He pulled his wand out from his pocket again and rustled up some air behind the two boys. The dirt spun up a little and they turned around as they felt something non-physical brush against them. The troll saw its opportunity and leapt noiselessly down off the stump. By the time the boys turned back, it had vanished into the underbrush. 

One of them gasped, his mouth falling open. The other reached for his mother’s arm to get her attention. They were tourists too, German by the sound of it. While Draco couldn’t understand what they said, he recognized a dismissive tone as the boys told their mother what had happened. She took their hands and led them away. Draco had thought them to be a Muggle family, until the mother glanced darkly back over her shoulder at the troll park. Now he wasn’t so sure. 

“I guess they didn’t know better,” Dagmar said as Draco pocketed his wand. “Usually visitors are told somewhere along the way to take proper precautions. For kids, it’s fun. Who knows, maybe they would’ve had something to protect themselves with if that troll wasn’t just trying to get on.” 

“I wasn’t comfortable waiting to find out.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.” 

“That’s the troll park, anyway.” Dagmar chuckled. “I’m surprised we actually got to see one. They don’t usually come out when it’s so bright. They prefer dawn or dusk, and don’t like crowds. Too much noise.” 

“Me too, but I don’t eat children when I _do_ show myself.” 

Dagmar snorted and touched his forearm. “Come on.” 

She led him back out of the trees, glancing over her shoulder with brief nerves that confused Draco until he’d remembered what happened that morning at Malfoy Manor. Her touch and his reaction to suspicion of a bug crawling up his arm had instigated much more of a reaction than Draco thought it warranted. Until he’d made a fool of himself at the bottom of the mountain, he’d intended to ask her about it.

They headed for the observation area. The majority of the crowds focused here, but Draco forgot about them all when the entire city opened up below. Other mountains like the one they were on rose up in the distance. To the right, a multitude of boats carried along in the bay. Sheets of rain came down on it in the distance. Bergen itself was as colourful as the wizarding shop alley had been. From up here, it could easily be mistaken as a solely magical municipality. 

They found a spot at the front where they could lean against some railing. Wherever Draco looked, there was more to see: ponds, strangely shaped buildings, multi-coloured districts. Dagmar observed it all with a serene, fond smile. Draco couldn’t help but think how nice it would be if she ever looked at _him_ like that. 

A phantom of it transferred over when her gaze transitioned from Bergen to Draco. Fresh nerves toiled in Draco’s stomach, quite distinct from the other forms of anxiety he’d experienced thus far today. 

“You still love it here, don’t you?” he asked. 

“Ja,” Dagmar sighed. Loose, blonde hairs caught the sunlight as the wind moved them. “I think in a way, it’ll always be home to me. It’s weird it was almost half a lifetime ago that I actually lived here.”

“Places can hold us,” Draco agreed. “When I think about it, though, I don’t really have anywhere like that.” 

“You usually have to live somewhere else for a while before you appreciate how much you love somewhere,” Dagmar said. “I didn’t think I’d miss Norway that much when I left, especially since I’d be starting school soon enough. It’s the little things that start making you homesick. The food, the language. Then it snowballs from there.” 

“I’m feeling it a little today, but I don’t think it’s the same thing.” Draco cupped his jaw with his hand, his elbow digging into the railing. “I’m just out of my comfort zone. What you’re describing sounds more like a yearning.” 

“It’s homesickness. Surely you know what that feels like, ja?” 

“I guess.” Draco shrugged. “I did, when I started at Hogwarts. Missed my mum.” 

“Didn’t we all?” 

Draco smiled. “So where exactly did you live here?” 

Dagmar pointed straight ahead, where three mountains layered together. “The second one there is called Damsgårdfjellet, the third mountain Lyderhorn. In between there’s a municipality called Lyngbø. We were up Damsgårdfjellet’s slope from it.”

She lit up with a sudden thought. “As far as I know, it’s still Herr og Fru Dyrdahl that own it. I could write them tonight and see what they would think about us coming for a short visit. You could see the house I grew up in.” 

“Sure.” 

The idea made her so happy that Draco couldn’t tell her no, even if he wanted to. Meeting some of these Norwegian purebloods Dagmar mentioned made him nervous, but the other flutter in his stomach ruled over all. Whenever Draco’s gaze traveled even somewhat in Dagmar’s direction, he couldn’t resist looking at her again. Objectively she was very pretty, typically Scandinavian with her blonde hair, blue eyes, straight nose, and prominent cheekbones. Before the beginning of this summer, Draco never had any reason beyond general aesthetics to really look at her. The more acquainted they became, the more she shifted from visually pleasing to arresting. She’d be intimidating if they had no preexisting rapport. 

Draco did his best not to compare Pansy and Dagmar, since they were two very distinct people. What he _could_ compare was how he felt toward either one. He was fond of both, but when it came to Pansy, Draco couldn’t exactly say he’d missed her since they last parted ways. When he thought about her, it wasn’t so much with ache as dread. He still had no idea how to tell her how his life had suddenly shifted trajectory. 

“You look worried.”

Thoughts interrupted, Draco straightened his back out where he leaned over the railing. He hadn’t intended to turn surly, but he could still feel the lingering weight from it on his brow. 

“Just thinking,” he said. 

“What about?” 

Draco’s cheek tugged involuntarily. “I haven’t talked to Pansy yet. I’m actually a little surprised she hasn’t reached out to me.” 

The concern Draco experienced appeared as a ghost across Dagmar’s features. “Right. I guess she wouldn’t know.” 

“I’d joke and say of course not, you haven’t been hexed into oblivion yet, but it might not be a joking matter.” 

Dagmar pressed her lips together briefly. “Are you going to tell her about me?”

“I’m trying to come up with a way around it,” Draco said. “I don’t have to tell her everything, but I do owe her some sort of explanation. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the ways I cocked up with her, and I don’t want to just abandon her after five years of believing we’d be married. She’ll be devastated, and I don’t know how long it would take her to come back from that.” 

“Right.” Dagmar nodded. “I’ll come right out and say I have no soft feelings towards her at all, but she deserves some kind of closure. It’s mature of you to realize that, even if whatever comes of her won’t affect you.” 

“It will, though, for the next year,” Draco pointed out. “We’ll still all be in school together. _You’ll_ be sharing a dorm with her.” 

The reminder brought on a flicker of panic in Dagmar’s concern. 

“I don’t know how to navigate that yet.” Dagmar studied her thumb, which she ran over the top of the railing. “It seems to me that it would be best she just not know. She’d find out eventually, we can’t avoid that, but she was bad enough when she felt secure with you. I don’t know how she won’t see this as some kind of long-game revenge I took on her. You know her better than me. Would she see reason?” 

“No,” Draco answered right away. 

“Sure wish our parents would’ve taken that into account before dropping this on us.” Dagmar drew in a long breath and followed it up with a sigh. “I wondered anyway if it would be best we kept this between us when we go back to Hogwarts. I feel bad about it because as you’ve been, you’re nothing to be ashamed of. You’ll be my husband someday, so I’m tempted just to rip the bandage off and get the blowback over with. But we don’t even know how much we’ll interact when we go back. Summer is different. We don’t have classes, homework, or our friends to distract us. We’re intentionally spending time together now.”

It hurt Draco a little to hear Dagmar associate him with anything close to shame, but he had no one to blame but himself for that. 

“I guess we won’t know until we’re back,” Draco said. “Before September though, I need to let Pansy know it’s off. I couldn’t go a year knowing I’m betrothed to you, but carrying on with her. It wouldn’t be fair, even if I could bring myself to do it. I don’t even think it would work, since she’ll expect me to officially propose sometime before then.”

“Can you tell her you opted out of the arrangement?” Dagmar asked. 

“No, because then she’d probably still expect we’d be together outside of that unless I just up and decided that she wasn’t worth my time anymore. I’m trying to avoid that.” 

“Make it out that you don’t have a choice?” 

“She’ll want to know why I didn’t opt out and stay with her anyway.” 

“So why didn’t you?” 

Draco opened his mouth to repeat the reason he’d maintained ever since Dagmar first asked. It wasn’t as satisfying now as it had been then. Things had changed. It was still rooted in fact, though. 

“I trust my parents not to make a switch like that for no good reason,” Draco said. “If they thought we might be more compatible, I’ve had enough time already to see it might be true.” 

Like every other time Draco offered it up, it didn’t satisfy Dagmar. This time, in fact, she looked less happy to hear it. 

“I guess I wonder what would happen if they changed their minds again,” Dagmar said. “What happens if they all say it was a mistake and that we would go back to the original plan?”

“They wouldn’t,” Draco replied. “You only get to change something this big once. It wouldn’t be fair to you and me, nor to Pansy and Blaise.” 

“It wasn’t fair to make the change in the first place.” Dagmar turned to face Draco, leaning her hip against the railing. “It makes me feel insecure that you could change your mind that easily about something so big in your life. We get on really well, you and me, and I can see where this is heading. I don’t want to get too invested, though, if it might not actually end up anywhere.” 

“Do you just want me to reassure you then that whatever happens, we’ll stick to this?” Draco asked. 

She hesitantly nodded. “For anything other than our own personal choice. Irreconcilable differences, in case we run into them.” 

“Okay.” It was easy enough to agree to, considering the fondness for her that dawned so acutely within Draco. “I don’t want to go through that transition again either, however we feel or get along. If we wind up not together, it’ll be because it’s what we chose. We let our parents get the jump on it for the sake of tradition, but if they abuse that any further, then I’d opt out and go with whoever I want.”

“Me too.” 

Dagmar held out her pinky. Draco smirked, amused, and looked from it back to her. “What’s this about, then?” 

“Promise me,” she said. 

It wasn’t necessary for Draco to keep his word, but he’d do it for her. He wrapped one of his pinkies around hers. An impulsive thought came over him then to take her hand from there. She pulled hers away too quickly, though. 

“Does it make you feel better?” Draco asked. 

“Maybe a little.” Dagmar retained a semblance of the anxiety that seemed to plague her today. “It’ll still take time to have that level of trust.” 

“Yeah,” Draco easily agreed. “I don’t really know what you’re worried about, though. If either of us is going to get hurt by anything, it’s probably going to be me.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“I can see where this is heading too,” Draco said. “I want it.” 

The stiffness in Dagmar’s shoulders relented, as did the furrow to her brow. That she looked relieved was worth it to Draco to put himself out there like that. It was one thing to have said a while back that he could see something happening here, but to follow-up with the fact that it was starting to was a new beast entirely. It scared Draco to put himself out there. He hadn’t worried so much about rejection lately, but with each step along the way here with Dagmar, the price grew steeper. 

For Dagmar not only to be relieved he felt a certain way, but to darken in the cheeks for it, made the risk worth the gamble. 

“Me too,” she told him. 

Draco moved his hand along the railing toward where hers rested. She watched him do it, had to know what he was going for, so that seemed like decent enough permission to proceed. Not only did she let him take her hand, she met him halfway on it. Draco watched contentedly as her slim fingers played with his broader ones. He glanced at her throughout, entranced by her willing vulnerability. When their hands came to rest with each other, he finally caught her eye. Her blush deepened and she grinned before averting her gaze downward again. 

“The day’s getting on,” Draco spoke. “Did you want to catch dinner up here, or back at the inn?”

“I thought we could eat here and then catch the train back?” Dagmar looked back over her shoulder at the funicular. 

“Feeling peckish yet? I am.” 

“I could definitely eat after our hike.” 

Draco slipped his fingers more surely into hers. “Come on, then.”


	11. Crossings of History

Aware she wasn’t awake, Dagmar stood in the same hallway where she spent almost every night. Moonlight came in through three skylights. On nights that happened and the house wasn’t so dark, Dagmar felt more annoyed to be back in this place than terrified. 

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Dagmar still woke up disoriented and slick with sweat. She laid in bed, looking out the window of her room at the inn, and debating it before resigning to rise. The sheets had to be peeled off her. 

As Dagmar’s sixth year at school wound down, the nightmares had gotten bad again. Stress always did it to her, and exams were a decent source for that. On top of Dagmar’s parents being investigated by the Ministry, the last night at Hogwarts had been the worst one in a while. 

Dagmar was under no illusion that they wouldn’t find reason to get bad again. Seventh year at Hogwarts might be the ultimate test. Not even Occlumency could help, since the source of the dreams had nothing to do with Legilimency. The act of clearing her mind every night took the edge off, though, so Dagmar still exercised it before falling asleep. During periods of high stress, it ensured she didn’t lose any extra rest. 

Since Dagmar wasn’t very stressed right now—actually quite happy—she forgot about how she’d woken up as soon as she was upright. She’d had a good day yesterday with Draco, even if it wasn’t perfect. He was in a period of growth, and the mishap showed Dagmar the trajectory of where he wanted to end up. Draco seemed to like being held to some sort of standard. He appreciated the structure of it. Rather than contentious and mercurial, Draco could actually be quite pleasant. Dagmar felt bad for him that he was capable of happiness, for it meant he hadn’t experienced a whole lot of it for most, if not all, of the time she’d known him. 

Bringing that out in someone was addicting. Dagmar rushed toward doing it some more by picking out her clothes for the day and bringing them with her into the bathroom for a shower. As she dressed after cleaning up, she wondered if Draco would be awake yet. The answer to that question waited for her outside the bathroom. A piece of parchment had been slipped under the room door:

_Morning. Didn’t want to wake you so I thought you’d see this whenever you got up. I’m heading downstairs for breakfast if you care to join._

_Draco_

Dagmar brushed her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck, and was content with the rest of her appearance. Despite the perennially-awful way she’d woken up, her skin looked fresh and her eyes bright. 

The pub/restaurant combination was on the opposite side of the inn. Dagmar slowed inside the double doors that opened into it, scanning the room in search for Draco. He sat by one of the windows, idly looking out with his jaw in one hand and bracing a coffee cup with the other. Over the span of his lifetime he’d perfected the cool look of boredom, although periodically his eyes would dart a little quicker and some glimmer of interest would appear behind them. The change was measurable when he noticed Dagmar had arrived. His spine straightened, his posture with it, and life came back completely to his gaze. His facial features softened with a small smile. 

“Morning,” Dagmar greeted him as she took a seat opposite. “Did you manage to find something to eat?”

“Ah. . .” Draco scanned the room again. “Nobody else was eating and all I was offered was coffee, so I figured they didn’t do breakfast here.” 

“I didn’t think they did,” Dagmar replied. “It’s not a common meal in the area, although maybe you would’ve lucked out if they catered like that to tourists.” 

“I wasn’t too hungry anyway.”

He fell quiet as a server a few years their senior came over. He had the same kind smile as Sigrid at the front desk, and Dagmar thought she might recognize him. She’d seen him around the inn during her youth whenever she attended some kind of social function. His acne had gotten a lot better, although stubbornly remained in a few spots. 

If he recognized Dagmar, he didn’t show it. No doubt he saw far too many faces for hers to have made a lasting impression. 

“Coffee?” he offered. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she told him in Norwegian when he’d finished pouring the cup. She declined the offer for cream, and then ignored the dish of sugar at the centre of the table before taking her first sip. 

Draco pulled a face at her over the rim of her mug. “You like it like that?” 

“Seasoned drinker,” she said. “It’s taken black here more commonly too. They might not offer tourists food, but apparently they’ll compromise on that.” She pointed at the sugar with an amused smile.

“I don’t drink it much. At all, really.” Draco’s mug no longer steamed, and he hadn’t gotten very far. The colour of it was hardly off from white. Dagmar couldn’t tell if time or the amount of cream had cooled it for him. “I prefer tea.” 

“Such a Brit.” 

Draco shrugged in acceptance of the jest. “It’s what I am.” 

Content with her company, the blue sky outside, and the warmth now sitting in her stomach, Dagmar took up Draco’s position of looking out the window. The walkway wasn’t as busy as it’d been yesterday. Toward evening it had levelled off as well, which had made for a prime walk along the harbour together. Dagmar had been more interested in going for an excuse to keep holding Draco’s hand than to look at boats. 

The dawn of a new day stunted Dagmar’s confidence toward reestablishing that contact. She didn’t doubt that Draco would be just as keen, since he was the one that instigated it up on Mount Fløyen, but so much of this remained new to Dagmar. She hadn’t really thought about it until last night how far behind she probably was in experience compared to Draco. It would surprise Dagmar if he and Pansy hadn’t had sex. Then here Dagmar was, who had already shared more physical affection with Draco than she and Blaise ever had. 

When Dagmar believed she’d be marrying Blaise, that wasn’t a problem. They went at their own pace. Now paired with Draco, Dagmar felt slightly out of her element and intimidated at the prospect. Dagmar had no idea what Draco liked, or how strong his drive was. If Pansy was in the habit of telling Millicent and Daphne about their sex life, she didn’t do it where Dagmar might overhear.

If the thought alone of talking about sex made her feel nervous, then Dagmar was certainly nowhere near ready to actually have it. Dagmar and Draco had resolved to let what went on between them evolve naturally. People didn’t go straight from holding hands to marathon, passionate sex anyway—not usually. Dagmar was certainly no such person. 

Draco hadn’t brought it up either. Barring not wanting to put her off, maybe he too just wasn’t like that. Or, if he knew that Dagmar and Blaise had never made it that far, he might not think it proper to take the lead. Because of his experience, Draco would probably be comfortable doing more sooner than Dagmar. He’d waited to initiate on holding hands until after she touched him, after all. Or did Draco only do that because he hadn’t thought of touching her in the first place? His reaction yesterday morning still bothered Dagmar. 

“Hey.” She pulled his attention away from an animated argument being held outside the window. “Can I ask you something about yesterday?” 

“Sure.” 

“When we were still at your manor, coming in off the terrace. . .” Dagmar trailed off when one end of Draco’s mouth pulled up toward a smile, quickly reaching his eyes. 

“It’s funny you’re bringing this up,” he explained when Dagmar raised an eyebrow. “I wanted to yesterday, but there wasn’t a good time. I could tell it was bothering you.” 

“A bit,” Dagmar said. “I just felt bad, if maybe you didn’t want me to touch you.” 

“I thought it was a bug. The gardens swarm with beetles every summer, and sometimes they manage to get past the warding spells.” 

Dagmar nodded. Draco had said something to that effect when it happened. While it was a suitable explanation, she still didn’t feel completely better. Perhaps it was a good thing they’d waited to talk about it, so that Dagmar had a chance to put her feelings about it into words.

“I’m not very good yet at telling when something is wanted or not wanted,” she said. “I thought since we were getting along that it was a good idea, but your reaction made me doubt that.” 

Draco considered her. “If I’d been prepared, I definitely wouldn’t have reacted like that. And if I wasn’t interested in you touching me, I would’ve said so. We wanted to base this on honesty, right?” 

“Right.” 

“So while we’re on the subject, might as well make it clear that either of us can turn down anything we don’t want or that makes us uncomfortable.” 

Dagmar managed an easy smile. “Ja, I wouldn’t ever pressure you. I’d feel like a pile of dragon dung if I did that accidentally.” 

“Me too.” For a moment, Draco looked like he had something to add to that. The expression passed when he took a sip of his coffee. 

“I have a feeling that I wouldn’t rush things like you might.” Heat rose in Dagmar’s neck as soon as those words left her mouth, for they didn’t sound very polite at all without elaboration. “What I mean is, I sense our experience is quite mismatched. You might be more comfortable with certain things because you’re familiar with it.” 

“Like what?” 

“You’ve had sex before, right?” 

That Draco didn’t mirror the awkwardness Dagmar felt by asking such a personal question was answer well enough on its own. He nodded anyway. 

“You?” he asked. 

“I haven’t done hardly anything,” Dagmar said. “Blaise and I weren’t affectionate. When I thought he and I would end up married, that wasn’t a big deal. We were in the same boat, and we were going at our own pace. It’s just that when I go with you now, we have to take that into account if sex becomes part of our relationship. We won’t be figuring anything out together, you’ll be showing me. I won’t be your first, but you’ll be mine.”

Draco braced his jaw again, elbow on the table. “Does that bother you?” 

“It’s a little intimidating.” 

“We’ll just go at your pace, then.” Draco shrugged. “It’s what I’ve been doing, even if we haven’t talked about it.”

“That’s what I thought you were doing, but it’s nice to know rather than assume,” Dagmar said. “It makes me feel more secure about anything that happens between us.”

“The way I was thinking about it in general is that I would probably be more comfortable than you on any given thing. I’m not generally so passive but for any big firsts, you should take the lead. You might feel more confident taking initiative knowing too that as soon as you’re ready for something, we’re both ready.” 

Nerves fluttered back to life in Dagmar’s stomach. “I don’t want you to get bored with me, or feel like I’m not giving you what you need.” 

“Just because I’ve had sex before doesn’t mean I expect it right away.” Draco rested his forearm on the table. “We’re still getting to know each other. Sure, I’ll be ready sooner, but this is as new to me as it is you.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m naive because I never got around to it, or the other way around, that I never got around to it because I’m naive.” 

“You always were a perfectionist.” 

Dagmar chuckled, for that above all else might be the root of her problem here. She disliked feeling vulnerable or less knowledgeable than someone else. With things like schoolwork, she combatted that by buckling down and learning everything she possibly could. Experience couldn’t be replicated from a book. Dagmar had no means of getting ahead on Draco on this one. She had no choice but to rely on his guiding hand. 

“I get why you’d worry, but you really shouldn’t,” Draco told her. “I’m not in any rush. To be honest, I was just looking forward to walking around some more today like we did last night.” 

Dagmar reached across the table to where Draco’s lax hand curled up. He squeezed her fingers when she slipped them into his palm, and ran his thumb over the back of them. 

“Might as well get going then, ja?” Dagmar suggested. “I was looking forward to that too.” 

Draco left his half-finished coffee. Dagmar had managed all of hers. She thanked their server again on the way out of the restaurant. In the foyer near the fountain, Draco touched between her shoulder blades to get her attention. 

“Did you need anything upstairs?” he asked. 

Dagmar pursed her lips in thought. “I brought money down with me. I’m good.” 

Draco was set too, so they headed for the front entrance. They hadn’t made a plan for the day, which caused Dagmar further pause. She was just happy to feel the tips of Draco’s fingers tickle her palm before loosely entwining with hers. 

“We could just see where we wind up?” Dagmar suggested. “I didn’t have any concrete ideas for today. Fru Dyrdahl hasn’t gotten back to me yet.” 

“Whatever you want. This is your city to show me.” Draco leaned over in a makeshift nudge with his shoulder. “I thought you’d be taking me to the museum we walked past last night, now that it’s open.” 

“Oh.” Dagmar lit up with remembrance of mentioning that. “We can do that, if you don’t mind. I know history isn’t everybody’s favourite thing.” 

“I don’t mind at all.” Draco started them off in that direction. “I didn’t even realize how much I was learning from you until I was thinking about it before falling asleep.” 

Dagmar would’ve pinned Draco as more the type to think about Quidditch or something, while he drifted off. It flattered her that she wasn’t the only one thinking about the person on the other side of the wall. In her case, it had delayed slumber while she went over everything again that she’d enjoyed about their day. 

“If your only experience learning history is through Professor Binns, then. . .ja.” Dagmar chuckled. “I even have trouble with that. Hermione and I came up with a theory forever ago about him.” 

“Oh?”

“Before he died, he’d taught the class enough times for the day-by-day course material to become second-nature to him,” Dagmar said. “You know how some ghosts are sentient, like the Bloody Baron? Maybe Professor Binns isn’t.” 

“How does he do roll call, then? And he’s answered students’ questions before.” 

“Hm.” Dagmar narrowed her eyes. “Seemed like a decent way at the time to explain why his teaching style is so unengaging. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in his own subject matter either.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t,” Draco said. “Maybe he’ll retire and you’ll have a good professor for seventh year.” 

Dagmar laughed. “Was Professor Binns alive or dead when your parents went to Hogwarts?”

“Dead, still.” 

“So why retire now? I’m sure he doesn’t feel the same kind of fatigue from doing any one thing like the living might.” 

Draco smirked. “Dare you to ask.” 

“No way!”

“I was going to say that maybe if you did well enough on the History of Magic NEWT, you could replace him and give the years after us some kind of beacon of hope. Is teaching what you want to do, though? You’d have the background now that you run study hall.”

“Oh—nei, that wasn’t ever my goal,” Dagmar replied. “I like tutoring because it’s an easy way to review old material without having to dig out however-many years of old notes.”

“What _do_ you want to do after next year?”

“Not that it’s anywhere near as grand as working with dragons—” Dagmar bumped into Draco’s arm with her shoulder, “—but I planned on going into Healing. It worked perfectly with what Blaise wanted to do, which was to stay in London after we got married. I’ve worked for top marks because I needed to make sure I got an apprenticeship offer at St. Mungo’s. I guess that doesn’t matter now, does it?” 

“Not unless our Ministry built a dragon reserve while I wasn’t looking.” 

“I’m happy the pressure to land at one particular hospital is off.” Dagmar looked over at Draco. “I think I’m also quite happy not to live in London.”

Draco studied her with a tilted head. “Britain as a whole?” 

“If it doesn’t have a dragon reserve, then I guess we wouldn’t,” Dagmar said. “I’m not really fussy where we go. I’ve moved internationally before, and I could do it again. At least if I qualify as a Healer, I have a lot of options. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“I’m going to apply everywhere in autumn,” Draco replied. “I always just wanted to see where I might get accepted. Pansy would go wherever with me, so we didn’t really talk about it. I don’t even think she knew I wanted to work, come to think.” 

Dagmar blinked. “You never told her?” 

“No.” Just like the last time they’d discussed this, colour rose in Draco’s pale cheeks. “I didn’t want her to think I was a failure if I bombed my exams and couldn’t get on anywhere. That we had enough family fortune between us to live was good enough for future planning.”

“Do you really think she’d want to move away from her family?” Dagmar asked. “What if you got on in. . .I don’t know, China or something?”

“She would’ve gone.” Draco shrugged. “She would’ve gone anywhere I wanted to.” 

Dagmar furrowed her brow. “How can you know that, though? And what if she would’ve followed you, but it wouldn’t make her happy?”

“I don’t think you understand how her mind worked,” Draco said. “She was really passive when it came to me. She trusted me to make decisions like that. She didn’t care where she wound up, so long as we were together. If I ever asked her opinion, that’s all she ever had to say.” 

Dagmar fell quiet. She couldn’t imagine having such little vision of her own life as that. Even though she agreed to participate in an arranged marriage, she still sought some kind of autonomy over everything within it. She’d been lucky between Blaise and Draco to be paired with men that respected that. 

“You and her are polar opposites,” Draco continued on when Dagmar hadn’t said anything. “She’s nowhere near as ambitious. Sometimes I got the sneaking suspicion that the reason she liked an arranged marriage so much was that it spared her the effort of finding someone on her own.”

“Or the effort of getting you,” Dagmar replied. “She cares about you, ja? She would’ve wanted you, arranged marriage or not. Right?” 

“More likely than not.” Draco furrowed his brow. “When she didn’t really want anything in life, though, it’s hard to tell if she saw me as someone that would be a partner through all that, or someone that she counted on to make all the big decisions. The only thing she was really concerned about was kids. I guess if she didn’t know I had a career in mind, that might be the only thing we _needed_ to talk about. We’d never have to worry about anything else, like where we’d live, or how we’d eat, or how we’d take care of ourselves. That was already assumed to come from family gold.” 

“I’m getting the impression that you and I have already talked more about the future than you and Pansy ever did.” 

“Probably. We just weren’t concerned about it. Hard to worry when you know that no matter what, you’ll be okay.” Draco paused. “I don’t know what kind of work I’d care to do, if not working with dragons. Maybe professional Quidditch, if I could ever get on. I doubt it, though. Potter would get an offer before I did.” 

A ghost of a sneer, borne of envy, turned the corners of Draco’s mouth downward.

“Doesn’t mean both of you couldn’t.” Dagmar shrugged. “You’ll do just fine picking up the grades you need. You almost got there on your own. You’ll have my help for the last crunch.” 

“That does make me feel better.” 

Dagmar absently nodded, gaze passing over the buildings they walked past, but not absorbing much of what she was looking at. Despite Draco’s explanations, she had a hard time understanding. She couldn’t at all relate to Pansy. Did it even matter now? Draco and Pansy were strange, yes, but now that Dagmar looked at herself and Blaise, it wouldn’t suit her to start pointing fingers. How _had_ they gone five years without falling in together? Was the last five years a preview of what their marriage would’ve been? Would they have ever crossed the line from friends to lovers? Or was that spark never really there? 

Some kind of love life would’ve been nice, eventually. Walking around these last few days with Draco, just doing something as innocent as holding hands, made Dagmar feel the weight of everything she could’ve missed if Blaise never showed any romantic interest in her. Dagmar wanted somebody that she could touch, that would touch her, and she definitely wanted to experience sex someday. She’d been under the impression that she and Blaise might have stepped up after he proposed, but now Dagmar wasn’t so sure.

“Coming back to Pansy for a minute,” Dagmar said, “you never really seemed particularly upset for that arrangement to end. You haven’t been as miserable since then, either. Are those two things related?”

Draco pursed his lips while he thought. “Doing all the work was exhausting, when I look back. Yeah, Pansy would do a lot to make me happy, but she also relied on me to figure everything out about where we were going and what we were doing. That’s a lot to carry. Not to mention I couldn’t ever do any wrong with her. No point even having ambitions within my own relationship. What’s there to be proud of? It’s like when everyone thinks you’re a git but your mum thinks you’re all right. It doesn’t count.” 

Dagmar snorted. 

“It’s not to say I didn’t care about her.” Draco looked over at Dagmar. “I think you and I both have to be comfortable with the idea that the other might still have lingering feelings, whatever those might be. At least we’re in the same boat, right?” 

“It’ll take a lot to untangle,” Dagmar agreed. “Blaise and Pansy were our first relationships. They were all we knew. We were invested in sharing our lives with them. I would think it was weird if you were able to cut Pansy right loose and forget about her.”

“You _do_ think it’s weird,” Draco said. “You’ve said so.” 

“But you’re not doing that, are you? You haven’t been able to give me a reason why you’re okay with the sudden change, but you haven’t done anything like say what a massive relief it is to be free of her. There must be something there.” 

“I do care about her. I think she deserves more than to be dropped like this, and I’m dreading having to tell her about the change.”

“I’m lucky in the sense that Blaise probably already knows,” Dagmar said. “He won’t be proposing, so I’m sure his mum has talked to him.” 

“You haven’t talked to him yet, then.” 

“No, but I should. I don’t want us going back to school awkward about it.”

“I should figure out what to say by the end of the week.” Draco sighed. “I haven’t talked to Pansy at all. She’s probably wondering what’s going on. If I haven’t ended the relationship yet, does this count as cheating?”

“I. . .don’t know.” Dagmar glanced down at their entwined fingers. “Without an arranged marriage putting you and I together, I’d say ja. It’s not like we intended for this to happen. She recognizes the authority of our parents’ decision. It’s murky, at best.” 

Draco worked his mouth. “If we weren’t abroad, I’d do it sooner. Making a clean break is the honourable thing to do.” 

“It is.” 

They’d arrived at the Muggle University of Bergen. The museum there wasn’t the one Dagmar intended to take Draco to, but she’d enjoyed their conversation too much to stop it when they’d reached the one they walked by last night. Now that they were here, Draco too seemed to notice that they were no longer in the harbour. Despite his confusion, he didn’t say anything about it as they stepped inside. 

From their conversation, Dagmar felt like she had a better grasp on where Draco was coming from with Pansy. She hadn’t thought it was as simple as he’d said before. The situation’s layers made it hard for him to put his thoughts together into a succinct, satisfactory explanation. It ran deeper than that, which Dagmar could appreciate. Draco wasn’t that simple of a man. 


	12. Jotunheimen Dragon Reserve

What Draco liked most about the museum was a large painting of two men with long beards, one with red hair and the other blond. The blond looked younger, and the red-haired man rested a massive hand on his shoulder. Their intense gazes seemed to follow Draco, despite not being developed with magic to move. 

“These are Harald Hardrada and his son, Olaf Haraldsson,” Dagmar told Draco. “You might have heard of Harald before. He’s the one that led the assault on Stamford Bridge by York, back in 1066. His defeat symbolized the end of the Viking Age.” 

“I’m not very up on my Muggle history,” Draco admitted. Considering how boring Magical history was at school, he wasn’t much keen to branch out. 

“There are tales of him weaving in and out of magic history.” Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand. “He liked to explore. He came through this region and, according to our own history, nearly had it in with a jotunn until some wizards helped him out. Olaf came back to the area later and founded the city of Bergen. That’s why the hospital here is named after him. Olaf Kyrre Memorial.” 

Draco hummed. 

“That hospital is the main reason Bergen is still the capital of the Norwegian wizarding world,” Dagmar carried on. “When the Muggles moved their capital to Oslo, we didn’t see much point in uprooting.” 

While Draco found what connections Dagmar could show him between Muggle and Wizarding history in Bergen intriguing, he was more interested in how sharing something personal from her background lit Dagmar up. As if she’d been there when Harald Hardrada tried to fend off a jotunn with a sword on his lonesome, or when Olaf Haraldsson returned in his deceased father’s stead, Dagmar’s gaze softened with fondness. 

While they wandered around together for the rest of that day and for the next, Draco pushed back on the impatience rising within him—the same impatience that Dagmar had expressed concern might show up. It happened first when she explained what happened at Stamford Bridge, since there was a painting of it. Draco’s attention to what Dagmar said faded, although the sound of her voice continued to pass through his mind like a piece of music. Should he look at her, Draco watched her lips move, and casually imagined how their fullness would feel against his. 

He did his best to push it down, wanting to focus more on what made him feel this way in the first place. Dagmar’s excitement and happiness was contagious, especially when they made plans one evening to go up to the dragon reserve in the morning. 

They sat together at the bar within the pub. A few dinner patrons still occupied the tables behind them. Dagmar sipped a glass of wine, her choice over beer, which were the only two things she could drink since she wasn’t yet seventeen. 

“We brought the brooms, though.” Draco leaned on one elbow against the bar, content with how his drink had taken the edge off his quiet yearning. “We ought to use them.” 

“You heard Sigrid.” Dagmar ran a thumb up and down the stem of her glass. Her smile was as relaxed as the rest of her. “Do you really want to risk a dragon catching sight of us and thinking we’d make a good breakfast?” 

“Just dodge them.” 

“Oh. Ja, I didn’t think of that. Dodge them. Right.” 

Draco set his forehead on Dagmar’s shoulder. Their knees touching wasn’t quite enough for him, and dipping his head was the best way he could surmise to fend off the urge to kiss her. Dagmar rested her cheek against the top of Draco’s head, nuzzling his hair with her nose. 

“You haven’t had much chance to fly your Firebolt yet, have you?” Dagmar’s breath touched the shell of Draco’s ear. 

“Plenty, but still not as much as I’d planned.” Draco lifted his head again. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.” 

“I hope I’m not distracting you from practice.” 

“Nah,” Draco said. “Riding the Firebolt is a completely different experience from my Nimbus. It’s like it knows what you want to do before _you_ do. At least when it comes to flying, Potter won’t be in a league of his own this year.” 

“Think it’ll help?” 

“Any improvement will.” Draco sipped his beer. “I’ve been thinking about how to approach this next Quidditch season. You were right the other day. It would be really nice to get the Cup for once.” 

“It would.” Dagmar tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s your strategy, Captain?”

Dagmar didn’t play, but Draco didn’t think his strategy beyond the understanding of anybody with the slightest grasp on the game. As far as Draco was concerned, his position on the team was the only one safe. All others would be up for grabs come September, when tryouts would determine the best team that Slytherin house could produce. 

“Hm,” Dagmar hummed when Draco had laid it all out. “Sounds like you’re looking to play fair.” 

“And win doing it too.” 

“Why the change?” Dagmar’s eyes sparkled with amusement again. “Playing dirty was working so well for us. So was loading up on sheer brute force.” 

“It hasn’t all been useless.” Draco smirked. “It could be used as a kind of long-game build up. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff are going to expect the same old tactics. They won’t be prepared if we bring actual strategy to the field.” 

“Looking forward to seeing how this turns out, then.” 

Because they got on so well and Draco was quite certain Dagmar felt as cozy as he did, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that they didn’t kiss when they parted ways on the landing outside their rooms. While Draco was also proud of his self-control and ability to uphold the agreement they’d made, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d only imagined their mutual enjoyment of the evening. They were flirting, weren’t they? It was different than what Draco was used to, but to a similar end. Then again, if he counted how much they touched each other just on a regular basis as flirting, then where did that end and anything else began? 

That was fine if their courtship thus far could be deemed one long flirt. It was an honest glimpse into what their marriage could and might just be. However, since Dagmar was new at this, did she know the difference between flirting and casual conversation? Did Draco? To be fair to Dagmar, Draco himself wasn’t feeling too confident he’d been down this road before. His experience flirting before with Pansy was much less nuanced. 

Draco’s restlessness toward the situation delayed his sleep, then found him again come morning. He’d adjusted quickly to starting his day with coffee, especially now when edginess left him tired. He still preferred a couple heaps of sugar in his, and a dollop of cream. Out of curiosity, Draco had tried it black before making additions, but it was still too bitter for his liking. He couldn’t imagine he’d be in Norway long enough for that to have time to change. 

Dagmar wore a long-sleeved shirt underneath a hooded vest in preparation for the temperature change up at Jotunheimen National Park. A second layer wasn’t a precaution either of them had considered, but the chilly air was a common enough complaint for Sigrid to warn them when they had asked her how best to reach the dragon reserve. 

The pimply server, Jan, came by with more coffee as Draco and Dagmar got ready to go. 

“Drink for the road?” he asked. 

“Oh—I’d love one, but I don’t have anything to carry it in,” Dagmar replied. 

Jan pointed at her Alltid-Kaldt Kanister. “A tap of the wand, and that can.” 

“Oh really?” 

Jan pulled his wand from his back pocket to demonstrate. The block-lettered print down the edge changed to Alltid-Varmt. 

Dagmar smiled. “I’ll take some, then. Draco?” 

He opted against it, having meant to fill his canister in the lobby with cold water. Even if it didn’t help keep Draco warm, undoubtedly the reserve’s station would have drinks for offer. 

They headed for the inn’s back room.

“Did you want to go first?” Dagmar asked. 

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Draco shrugged, but when she made no move to take the lead, he stepped up. “Er, Jotunheimen, right? I wouldn’t want to end up in the wrong place.” 

Dagmar laughed. “If you by some chance do, just come back here. We’ll try it again.” 

“Right.” 

Sigrid had assured Draco that English would suffice, so he at least didn’t have to remember the Norwegian translation. Even though it wasn’t much different, the name of the park they headed for was enough to knock his confidence. 

Draco stepped into the emerald flames. “Jotunheimen Dragon Reserve!” 

The floo network recognized the destination. Draco stepped out when the network lingered at a wooden cabin with mountains visible beyond the large window. It seemed like the place. 

Draco stepped clear of the fireplace, and out of Dagmar’s way for when she arrived. The station was large on the inside and well lit. Most of the wall and high ceiling consisted of windows. There was a welcome desk with a line already accumulating. A hallway led off beside the desk with signs pointing that way indicating _toalett_ and _gave butikk_. Draco had visited enough tourism hotspots in Bergen to recognize the translations now for restroom and gift shop. He didn’t know what _bemanne like utenfor dette punktet_ meant, which led through a door beside the hallway. _Museum_ was the same in both languages, of which there was one here as well, to Draco’s right. No doubt Dagmar would want to check it out before they headed back. 

She stepped out of the fireplace behind him. “Oh good, you made it.” 

“Yeah, don’t know what I was so fussed about,” Draco said. “I guess I’m still not used to being a foreigner.” 

Dagmar ran an affectionate hand down Draco’s arm on her way to slipping their fingers together. They got in line behind a gaggle of kids being watched over by one strained man. He didn’t seem to have much control over how loud they were, but whenever one tried to run off, he’d turn them airborne before they floated back over to him. Draco suspected, judging by the kids’ grins, that they did this on purpose. 

He leaned over close to Dagmar’s ear just in case the man or four kids spoke English. “I hope we’re not in the same tour group as them.” 

Dagmar laughed quietly. “Me too. Sounds like a birthday party, so I bet they’ll be extra rowdy.” 

“Oh boy.” 

Thankfully, when the boys and their guardian reached the front of the line at the welcome desk, they discussed a private tour that had been reserved ahead of time. Their guide, a twenty-something woman with short brown hair, lit up as she greeted all the little boys. Now that they had someone to focus on, they started to calm down. The man that had brought them seemed relieved as the boys followed their tour guide out of the station in quiet single file. 

“God morgen,” the man working at the welcome desk said to Draco and Dagmar. 

That was more Norwegian that Draco had grown familiar with, after hearing it so many times. He was lost shortly after as the receptionist and Dagmar spoke. Usually Dagmar steered whoever they talked to toward English so that Draco could be part of the conversation, but Draco was okay to take a step back sometimes and just listen. When he and Dagmar returned to Britain, Draco wouldn’t have as much opportunity to hear Dagmar speak her native language in a natural setting. Even if he couldn’t understand most of it, he liked the sounds. The longer Dagmar spoke Norwegian, the more her accent changed. Draco heard it mostly in her Rs. She didn’t silence hers as much as most Brits did back home, and here they deviated even further away from that. At times they sounded throaty, like how the French said it. If she spoke in a more lyrical way, like if she was in a good mood, they would start to trill. 

Draco listened so intently to her, he mistook her switch back to English as a sudden ability on his part to understand Norwegian. The sensation threw him off enough to miss what she said. “Er—what?” 

“The ten o’clock tour is full.” Dagmar retained her accent, the R in ‘tour’ trilling shortly into the next word. “We’ll have to wait until ten-thirty when the next group leaves.” 

“That’s fine.” Draco shrugged. 

“We each owe two romer, then.” 

Draco dug into his pockets for some of the foreign bills they’d bought from Sigrid last night. He still had a hard time telling the difference at first glance what were romer and what were kroner. To confuse him even further, he still had some francs from Nice. 

The receptionist gave them each visitor badges to fix to their clothes. Draco followed Dagmar at a shuffling pace as they headed for the midst of the main foyer. He furrowed his brow as he sifted through the remainder of his bill money. 

“I need to organize this,” he said. “I have way too many different currencies in my pocket. Too many colours.” 

“Do you want to do that now, or would you rather look at the gift shop or museum?” Dagmar asked him. “We’ve got a little over an hour until our tour. If you’re interested in putting a time constraint on me at the museum, here’s your chance.” 

Draco put all of his money away. “Why would I do that?”

Dagmar shrugged, one end of her mouth pulling toward an embarrassed smile. “I’ve dragged you to a lot in the past few days. I’d understand if you’re completely historied out.”

“I’m not. . .I don’t think,” Draco added. “I put you up to showing me what your homeland is about, and it’s exactly what you’ve been doing.” 

“You can say if you’re not interested. It’s okay,” Dagmar told him. “I’ve noticed your attention starting to drift. Your eyes shift out of focus.” 

“I don’t think they have. . .” 

Draco stopped himself there. He’d paid mind to everything Dagmar showed him, and what she had to say about it. He had been a little preoccupied, though, whenever his focus fell too hard on her. 

“There’s a fairly simple explanation for that.” Despite trying to remain casual, Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks. “I’ve started to like you quite a lot, so that’s distracting.” 

“Oh.” Dagmar chuckled and ran her hand down over her ponytail. “And here I was, worrying I was boring you.” 

“No,” Draco refuted. “You’re not.” 

“You’d tell me if I was?”

“I’d probably just suggest we did something else.” Draco gestured around the museum they’d entered, fit with a reassembled dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling. “This is more for me, isn’t it? You suggested we come here because I told you I wanted to work with dragons.” 

“It was also a good excuse to come back to Bergen for a visit.” Dagmar bumped her shoulder into Draco’s. “It wasn’t entirely selfless.” 

Draco laughed. 

“When you say you like me a lot, just what do you mean?” Dagmar said, making Draco’s stomach flip. “That could be anywhere from you think I’m pretty to—well, there isn’t really much of a limit on that range.” 

“I do think you’re right lush,” Draco told her. “I’m talking about a full-on fancy. It hasn’t been obvious?” 

“Now you say it, ja.” To Draco’s relief, he wasn’t the only one with colour in his face. He always felt so much better in these situations when he wasn’t the only vulnerable one. “It’s weird to flirt when we know we’re going to wind up married. In a way, it’s harder to tell if it’s genuine. Do you know what I mean? Like, we’re going to be married so I’m flirting with you, versus I’m flirting with you so that one day we might be married.”

“I get what you’re saying.” Draco nodded. “If we had this same experience getting to know each other but it hadn’t been arranged, I’d want to give us a proper go.” 

“Technically we’re actually dating, aren’t we?” Dagmar asked. “Do these trips we’ve been taking count as dates?” 

“If we both say they do, then they would.” 

Dagmar pursed her lips, thinking.

“I’m not sure that Nice did,” she said. “I didn’t go with the intention of it being a date. I didn’t know yet that our arrangements had changed. This trip more than counts. It’s either one big date, or a series of small dates. It just feels different than our day in Nice. The flirting has been a little out of hand—not that I’m complaining. It’s been fun.” 

“It has been,” Draco agreed. 

“And maybe a little intense?” Dagmar added with an inquiring look. “There are times I take a step back and realize how much of a drastic change the last few weeks have been for us. I don’t think it could’ve happened that way without it being arranged, but there’s still this part of me that’s a wee tad overwhelmed by it all. It’s all new to me, and with a new person as well. Although, when I think about it, I wouldn’t feel much different if it had been Blaise I’d spent all this time with. If he and I were suddenly like how you and I have been, it would be enough of a change to raise my eyebrow.” 

“Considering we barely talked before, it’s a huge change.” That Draco could take her hand so easily without having to put any thought toward it spoke to their progress. “We’ve got plenty of time for the idea of it all to settle in, and for whatever we think of the other to take root. Our chemistry is encouraging though, isn’t it?” 

“It is.” Dagmar touched Draco’s forearm with her free hand. “I’m surprised we had any at all, to tell you the truth.” 

Draco too. They had their differences, but willingness to look at them critically turned them into a team rather than opposing forces. So long as they were supportive of each other’s interests and goals, even when they didn’t share them, then that part of their marriage would work just fine. Dagmar cared little about Quidditch, but she could’ve fooled Draco by indulging him when he talked about it. Draco never had anyone else to talk to about his aspiration to work with dragons, so bringing Dagmar in on it concreted early on in Draco’s mind that Dagmar was his confidante. He could trust her with the things he held most dear, and that was so crucial. 

Dagmar tipped her head back to look up at the dragon skeleton. “You know, you don’t realize how big they are until you’re right close. I can’t imagine standing in front of one of these alive. They’re too temperamental, too powerful, and too intelligent for my liking.” 

“That’s the challenge,” Draco said with a smirk. 

“Makes me wonder how Potter and Diggory did it without dropping one in their pants.” Dagmar shook her head. “You must have loved that, though. Seeing the dragons at school.” 

“First and only time I’ve ever seen them in the flesh,” Draco replied. “I wouldn’t have minded seeing Potter take more of a singe, but I suppose that would be asking too much.” 

“He did it the smart way. Just admit it.” 

“Sure. Fine.” 

“That’s such a rude thing to say anyway,” Dagmar told him. “You must know how much one of those burns would hurt.” 

“I could imagine, and I hope I never find out for sure.” 

“So why would you wish that on anybody?”

“Potter just shouldn’t have had it that easy,” Draco said. “He shouldn’t have even been in that tournament, let alone win it. I’m sure he knows it was a total fluke. If Diggory didn’t. . .” 

“I can’t say I ever saw Potter flaunt that he won.” Dagmar turned raised eyebrows at Draco. “Did you?” 

No, Draco didn’t. Why would Potter ever be vocal about that, though, for the sake of Diggory’s memory? It wouldn’t look good on him at all. 

“Nobody ever said you have to feel a certain way about Potter,” Dagmar said. “You also don’t have to go out of your way to be a git about him. It never looked good on you, to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t care for him even without all the Dark Lord business, him being famous and all for it, and then being every teacher’s pet at school.” 

“Thats fine. Nobody said you had to.” 

“What do _you_ think about him?” Draco asked. “You must have an opinion, being on all right with Granger.” 

“Not really.” Dagmar shrugged. “We don’t talk about him. I’ve never spoken to him personally other than when it was necessary in class. But if it’s true that he has to be the one that puts You-Know-Who in his place, I hope he does.” 

“So long as my father doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.” 

“Or mine.” 

Draco pursed his lips. “Do you think Potter will manage?” 

“Ja,” Dagmar answered easily enough. “We’ve seen what he’s capable of, haven’t we? You don’t like it because it means he’ll be famous his entire life for something he can’t help, but it should be comforting. We grew up with a great wizard of our age. Things will turn out for us.” 

“They’d turn out for us either way,” Draco pointed out. “We’re purebloods. It’s not like we’d be in danger if the Dark Lord ended up doing Potter in.” 

“I’m still not convinced You-Know-Who cares about that.” Dagmar shook her head. “He tapped into something lots of people hold dear, who will fight—and who have fought—to the death for it. Nobody can ever gain the kind of power he wants alone. You need people, so you need to promise them something they think is worth the sacrifice.”

At least Dagmar was right, if what she said about Potter was true, that they had the luxury of keeping their hands clean from the whole thing. It wouldn’t even matter in a year what side they took, if they took one at all. They would be leaving Britain to live their lives elsewhere, and while the Dark Lord had dealings elsewhere in Europe, his focus was primarily back home. Were it not for Potter, Britain may have already been laid down at the Dark Lord’s feet. Then the Dark Lord could’ve turned his focus elsewhere over the last sixteen years.

Draco had learned so much in the past week alone about how the Muggle and Wizarding worlds fed back and forth into each other that it made him slightly anxious to try and imagine one without the other. How would this museum change? Would the Dark Lord demand that paintings be destroyed, like the one of druids leaving the reserve in the hands of the Ministry? What about wizards reaching agreement with agents of King Christian the First to keep trade routes open through winter in exchange for the land? Would it just seem like this dragon reserve came from nowhere, rather than a product of once-nomadic herders whose livelihood had transitioned over the centuries from corralling reindeer to dragons? Would they just ignore that ever happened? Would they erase the nuance that made a place like this so special? 

As Draco and Dagmar walked around the museum, Draco started seeing it less as a means for education about things in the far past, and more as a means to preserve it. It should’ve been obvious, and probably would’ve been had he thought deeply on it at all. Draco had a new appreciation for all the museum visits he’d made in the last few days. 

With five minutes to spare, Draco and Dagmar migrated back into the main foyer. More people had arrived, and what looked like their tour group lingered together by the same door the birthday party had left through earlier. 

Draco exhaled through his nose when the tour guide started speaking in Norwegian. “I didn’t think about that.” 

“I’ll translate for you,” Dagmar offered. 

The tour started with the parts of the station accessible only from outside. The first door led to supplies such as the brooms ridden by employees (all used Firebolts), harnessing equipment, and then various potions that dealt with the illnesses experienced by dragons. There was also a section for the employees themselves. The burn salve looked like it got the most use, followed by—worryingly—the antidote. It was portioned into mouthful-size bottles stopped with tiny corks, dark purple in colour. 

The next part was used for tracking each of the dragons. The centre of the room comprised of a remarkable replica of the reserve. Small miniature dragons about an inch long flew around in apparent mimicry of their breathing counterparts. A couple of the analysts drew Draco’s intrigue, even if he couldn’t understand exactly what they said. They discussed one dragon in particular that had drifted quite far southeast. The analysts ignored the tour group, and the guide returned them the courtesy since they were busy with something pressing.

“What’re they saying?” Draco asked Dagmar under his breath. 

“The dragon’s getting close to a popular tourist spot, the two lakes Bessvatnet and Gjende,” Dagmar told him. “They’re debating dispatching some of the dragonologists to head it off and encourage it back.” 

One of the analysts touched their wand to the dragon model. It turned from black to red. Since something semi-serious was happening, the tour guide ushered them along so that the analysts could focus on the task at hand. Draco held Dagmar at the back of the group so that he might get one last glance at something interesting at the Jotunheimen representation. He was disappointed not to see anything. 

“Where are the dragonologists?” Draco asked outside. 

“Hold on, she’s saying,” Dagmar said as their guide spoke. “During peak tourism season in the area, they tend to stay airborne in case a dragon suddenly heads off. The dragons can smell and hear the tourists from fairly far off if the wind shifts right, and curiosity will usually get the most of them. Some of them know where people like to gather, and will make it a habit to try and take a look.” 

Draco shook his head, amused. “They would.” 

“There are also dragonologists dressed as tourists out where they gather,” Dagmar kept on translating. “If they can’t veer the dragon off-course and anyone happens to see a dragon, they’re prepared to defend everyone and then perform Memory Charms on the Muggles.” 

They came around the side of the building, and Draco stopped walking. In the dip at the bottom of the nearest hill’s slope, a leathery wing obscured a black body that, all considering, blended in quite well with the rocky environment surrounding it. A bony, scaly shoulder rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep. Excitement dried Draco’s mouth, and he couldn’t close his parted lips if he wanted to as the tour guide led them closer. While Draco knew that Norwegian Ridgebacks topped out at fifty feet in length from snout to tail-tip, it was a number difficult to fathom. 

The wind shifted, sending their scent toward the sleeping dragon. Their tour guide asked everyone to stop, and while she remained calm, some members of the group looked quite nervous to be so close. Draco himself had no idea he’d actually see one today, even though he’d hoped for the opportunity. 

Rocks scraped against each other underneath the dragon as it unfurled itself. Its spiky tail stretched out, vibrating slightly. A head emerged from behind the wing. Blurry, orange eyes studied the group with mingled disinterest and fatigue. It yawned and stood, stretching all four legs and its back before laying back down. Although still dozy, it kept its gaze on them. 

“His name is Hyperion,” Dagmar translated what the tour guide said for Draco. “He’s the oldest dragon here, born in 1821. They think he can’t possibly live much longer, since Norwegian Ridgebacks usually only live to a hundred and fifty years old or so. But. . .” Dagmar stopped to laugh along with everyone else, “he still perks up when breeding season comes around, and that energy seems to push him through another winter.” 

Draco grinned, amusement elevating his already-excellent mood. Hyperion verged on dozing again. His tongue moved about in his mouth, and he licked his chops before yawning again. The back of Hyperion’s throat glowed dim orange. He exhaled heavily, sending smoke out of his nostrils. It coasted like a wave over the ground before dissipating. 

The rest of the tour couldn’t compare to that. While being shown the compound where they tended to injured dragons and the locker where they kept the largest quantities of cold meat Draco had ever seen, all he could think about was Hyperion’s lax expression and his long whiskers that drooped almost like a dragon’s version of Dumbledore’s beard. 

Draco had enough mind about himself to stock up with souvenirs at the gift shop before he and Dagmar headed back to the inn in Bergen. They went their separate ways to rest after such an exciting morning. Draco laid on his back on his bed, and played with one of the miniature dragons he’d bought. It walked along the back of his hand and forearm, threatening to try and fly away, but it wasn’t able to. It squeaked when it tried to roar, and the fire that came out of its mouth felt like cool water passing over Draco’s fingers. 

He brought it downstairs with him to the restaurant at the time he and Dagmar had decided to meet back up. It tramped around on the tabletop, its feet making little tapping noises. 

Dagmar watched with a grin. “You know what Hyperion reminded me of?” 

“What?” 

“A big lazy cat.” 

Draco laughed as he recalled the way Hyperion had bridged his back while stretching it out. “You’re not wrong, I’ll grant you.”


	13. The Dyrdahls

Dagmar received a response from Fru Dyrdahl the day after their visit to the dragon reserve that she would love to have her and Draco over for dinner. The only day that worked for her and her husband was the evening before Dagmar and Draco planned on returning to Britain. That morning, in preparation, Dagmar pulled Draco down along Trollmannsgaten toward the clothing shops. They hadn’t packed anything that would be suitable for the occasion. 

They headed into Lyng, which would’ve been Dagmar’s first choice regardless of whether or not the store catered to both men and women. It was packed, but a week in Bergen during peak tourist season had acclimated Dagmar to crowds. She found too that so long as she stuck close to Draco, the rest of the world fell into a hush around her. 

Dagmar had seen Draco at enough social functions to know he had an idea about how to dress for various degrees of formality. Otherwise, he might have tested the notion by the types of clothes he suggested, like a fuzzy jumper or some mesh tank top. He managed a straight face, although his eyes gave him away until Dagmar reacted with a shake of her head and firm ‘nei’. Then he’d grin and move on to the next jest.

He buckled down eventually and started suggesting actual contenders. When Draco held up a grey vest and pant pair, Dagmar encouraged him into the dressing stall. He ambled out in the midst of rolling the sleeves of the button-up he wore underneath. 

“What do you think?” he asked. “It fits well enough I shouldn’t need any modifications.” 

“Dashing,” Dagmar said. “If you like it, I don’t see a point in keeping on looking. You could ditch the tie, I think.” 

“Good, I wear them enough at school.” 

He tugged it loose, which had an unexpected effect on Dagmar. For an excuse to touch him, she smoothed down where the arms of his shirt had wrinkled. He slowed working on his tie, looking at her instead. 

“You look handsome,” she told him. 

One end of Draco’s mouth pulled up. “Thanks.” 

Dagmar’s fingers trailed down to his elbows. There were almost in too-public a place for something as innocent as eye contact. Ever since she and Draco had returned to Bergen from the dragon reserve, Dagmar wanted to kiss him.

There seemed to be some kind of block against it that Dagmar couldn’t quite identify. There was always too much space for her to just lean in, or there were too many people around for it to be appropriate, or Dagmar just double-guessed herself. She’d never kissed anyone before, and while she felt confident enough that the mechanics of it were natural, her neurosis toward it was too. Draco was far from wrong when he pointed out how much of a perfectionist Dagmar was.

It was important to Dagmar that the first one be memorable. It didn’t matter that, no matter how it happened, it would always be memorable in its own right. Exerting control over the situation made Dagmar feel better. It also made her wonder if, despite her want for it, she still just wasn’t quite ready. 

Draco had wanted it for a little while already, in hindsight. It was like he knew whenever a moment came up that Dagmar entertained the thought. He’d let their conversation fall into a lull, his shoulders found a way to squarely face her, and he relaxed. It succeeded in making him approachable, but Dagmar’s hesitation kept letting the moments slip away. 

It frustrated her, for there had been a few times that would’ve fared just well. They’d gone for another hike on Mount Fløyen, a longer one this time that went further than they’d expected. They watched the sunset together somewhere up on the mountain, which would’ve been a good enough chance on its own. After a nerve-wracking walk home, the trail lit only by Draco’s wand and the woods dark with unseen trolls following along in the underbrush, would’ve been another good chance once they’d returned to the inn. Had Dagmar gotten over her concern about the connotation of inviting Draco into her room, it could’ve happened. Even though they were sweaty and still a little shaken, some comfort would’ve done them well. 

Standing together outside the dressing rooms now, while not as perfect as that moment had been, could’ve done well enough for a casual, quick kiss. The people around them made Dagmar double-guess herself again, especially since a few kept glancing at them. Fellow shoppers were far too curious about such a thing, especially when they tried at the same time to feign disapproval toward a young couple showing affection in their vicinity. 

Dagmar cleared her throat. “If you change back into your other clothes, we can put these up at the register until we’re done.” 

Draco did a fair job at masking disappointment, but not well enough for Dagmar not to see it. Had they already jumped this hurdle, Dagmar certainly would’ve snuck a quick one. It was a good moment to kiss, just not for the first time. 

Draco’s fallen features had recovered when he came back out of the change room. The three pieces of clothing hung over one of his arms. Dagmar reached out to take them, and found herself avoiding his gaze again. It was getting to the point where the longer this went on, the more awkward it became. Dagmar worried that Draco’s self-esteem might take a hit for it if he thought there was something about him in particular that stopped her. She’d always thought his ego could use some deflating, but Dagmar would feel awful to knock something like Draco’s self-worth or confidence over something so silly. 

It didn’t take Dagmar much time to find something nice to wear either, a knee-length and sleeveless black dress with a sweetheart neckline where the solid material turned to mesh at the top. She debated a jacket to go with it, but ended up not going with it when Draco offered his opinion that it looked classy enough on its own. It was a little broad in the waist, was the only issue. Dagmar got it pulled in, by the end of which Draco’s spine had taken on a slouch where he sat with his bag between his knees. When asked if he was hungry, he readily agreed. 

After having a quick bowl of fiskesuppe at the pub, Dagmar started to feel like she hardly had time to get ready for the evening. She started in a rush after showering and drying her hair to properly curl it, but tapered off when she realized she was making good time. At quarter-to-four, while she stood in front of her bathroom mirror and considered any potential last-minute changes, a knock came at her door. 

Draco didn’t have as much to do to get ready, but with his hair combed and a subtle trace of a nice cologne, he came together nicely. His gaze softened as he looked at Dagmar, turning her smile into a grin. 

“All right?” she asked. 

“Just fine.” 

“Should we go, then?”

Fru Dyrdahl had told them to come by floo. That likely meant she would’ve authorized her fireplace to accept guests from the inn at five minutes to four. Dagmar and Draco arrived with a few minutes to spare. Dagmar absently massaged her hands in front of her stomach as she watched the clock in the inn’s travel room. 

Draco leaned against the wall with folded arms. “Nervous?” 

“Hm?” Dagmar focused on him. “I don’t think so. I’m actually looking forward to seeing the old place. Are _you_ nervous?” 

“I will be if they’d rather not speak English.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry,” Dagmar reassured him with a fresh smile. “It would be far too rude to exclude you like that.” 

“Good.” Draco exhaled through his nose. “I’ve never really noticed how inconvenient it is when you don’t speak the majority language. There were a few times this week I would’ve been completely lost, if I didn’t have someone that could translate for me.” 

“I felt a lot like that when I first moved to Britain,” Dagmar said. “My dad knew English, but when we lived here, we spoke Norwegian in the home. My mum only knew a little, and I didn’t know any at all. Even after a year of forced immersion, it was still shaky.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” Draco replied. “What that would’ve been like, or what it would’ve been like for me to go to Durmstrang. It’s easy as an English speaker to take for granted that I’ll be understood wherever I go. Clearly not the case.” 

“Nope.” An idea struck Dagmar. “I guess if you ever wanted to learn a second language, I could teach you one.” 

“I wouldn’t mind.” Draco half-shrugged. “It depends how busy our school year will be. We might have to wait on that.” 

“We’ll be waiting, in that case.” 

Both of them laughed in a strained way. Dagmar had heard the horror stories, and she’d watched seventh-years for the past six years struggle with the work load and pressure. She’d done all that she could to prepare, but it still didn’t feel like it would be enough. Nothing probably ever would.

The clock hit three fifty-five.

“Should be worth trying to get through,” Dagmar said. “I’ll go first.”

She stepped into the fireplace. Other stops flashed by as Dagmar headed on her way, and then deja vu hit when she looked in on a familiar great room. She stuck out a foot and stepped onto a hearth that she had stood on uncountable times as a child coming back from events not dissimilar to this dinner. Windows to her left faced south and lit the room with sunlight. Twin arches to the right led toward the foyer. Other than minor touch-ups where the marble or paint had started to wear, the place looked much the same. The living room furniture even sat in the same places, although had also been updated to a more modern set. 

The click of heels sounded upstairs towards where Dagmar remembered her parents’ bedroom once being. A railed staircase with a corner landing headed up the opposite wall. Fru Dyrdahl appeared from around the corner that led to the master bedroom. A wide grin overcame her. 

“I could swear you were your mother standing there,” she told Dagmar in Norwegian on her way down to the main level. “You always did look like her. It’s hardly a surprise how you’ve grown up.” 

“I hear that a lot,” Dagmar replied. 

Fru Dyrdahl had stayed just as slim as Dagmar remembered, although now didn’t seem as tall. Once-blonde hair had gone mostly silver in the last seven years. When she embraced Dagmar and kissed her on the cheeks, her perfume instigated yet another wave of deja vu. She still wore the same kind. Dagmar remembered catching whiffs of it while navigating the crowds at different functions. 

The fireplace made a whooshing noise behind Dagmar as Draco arrived. Dagmar smiled encouragingly at him as Fru Dyrdahl studied him. 

“This is Draco.” Dagmar switched back to English now that he was there. “Draco, Fru Dyrdahl.” 

“Pleasure,” Draco greeted her. 

He took her hand when she offered it, and didn’t stilt when Fru Dyrdahl kissed his cheeks the same way she’d done Dagmar’s.

“What a handsome young man,” Fru Dyrdahl said. “Dagmar mentioned in her letter that you came from an aristocratic family.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Normally he wouldn’t be so reserved on details, but Dagmar had suggested during lunch that neither of them offer up any information about their families or their affiliations unless directly asked. Herr and Fru Dyrdahl, if Dagmar recalled correctly from overhearing the adults talking while a child, were amongst the most outspoken about how shamefully the British pureblood families had acted in allowing someone like You-Know-Who to rise. Dagmar couldn’t rule out completely that he might come up at dinner, especially since You-Know-Who had reassumed corporeal form. 

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Fru Dyrdahl asked the two of them, her hands folded primly together before her. “Or would you prefer a tour first?”

“A tour would be lovely.” Dagmar stepped up to Draco’s side. “I’ve looked forward all week to seeing the place again. I see that you kept the characteristics the same, while updating where it needed.” 

“We’re still working on it, slowly but surely.” Fru Dyrdahl waved them along in direction of the foyer. “The main areas are mostly finished. What do you think of the gold trim in here?” 

It had made quite a difference, which Dagmar was quick to tell her. Dagmar was more excited to see the old library, a two-storied room off the foyer. Herr og Fru Dyrdahl’s book collection had grown since Dagmar’s parents owned it.

“I used to spend so much time in here,” Dagmar sighed in reminiscence as she laid a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “This very seat. I’m surprised my backside isn’t still molded into it.” 

“We had them reupholstered the first year or two of owning the place,” Fru Dyrdahl said. “I’d managed to find the same material as the original. I put new cushioning in while I was at it.” 

A small spiral staircase led up to the library’s second level. While up there, Fru Dyrdahl checked her watch. 

“I hope I don’t come off as a bad host if I leave you for a short bit,” she said. “I should check on dinner.” 

“Do whatever you have to,” Dagmar told her. “We’ll wait here.” 

She excused herself, then. Her heels clicked against the staircase on her way down, and then faded away toward the other end of the house. Dagmar kept on running her fingers over the books, visited by the same old urge to pull one off the shelf and curl up in her once-favourite reading spot. 

Draco lingered closer to her. “No house elves?” 

Dagmar shook her head. “Personal pride in keeping the home, and all that. Also not so keen on keeping unpaid workers.” 

“The house elves enjoy their work, don’t they?” 

“That’s a more relevant discussion if you actually have them to begin with,” Dagmar said. “The only reason my family does in Britain is because they came with the manor. Mum and Dad didn’t want to dismiss them since that’s hurtful, so we just won’t replace them as they get too ill or old for work.”

Draco had a thoughtful look on his face. 

“What?” Dagmar prompted him. 

“We’re not going to have house elves, are we?” he asked. 

“I’d rather not, but I have a feeling that our parents will gift us some whenever we start living together. Mine might not. We’ll see.”

“Just a warning if they don’t: I have absolutely no clue how to keep a house.” 

“Oh, you’d learn.”

He didn’t look particularly thrilled about it, but if Dagmar could have her way, she would much rather they went without. For the first ten years of her life, she’d been raised to take pride in how her family cared for their home. With magic, it really wasn’t that hard.

They’d returned to the library’s lower level when Fru Dyrdahl found them again. 

“Shall we continue on?” she asked them brightly. 

Beside the library was the drawing room, warm both in temperature and colour theme. Going back through the foyer took them to the dining room, which also still had the original furnishings. The walls had been painted a few shades lighter to help brighten it up. Dagmar recalled it feeling particularly dreary during the winters. Her family had preferred to eat in the kitchen, warmed by the fire in the keeping room during the shorter days of the year. 

They went into the kitchen next. It was just as big as Dagmar remembered with two stoves, plenty of counters, and an island that seated six on one side. A round booth filled out the breakfast nook. The keeping room was dark without a fire going and the shades drawn. 

“Take a seat,” Fru Dyrdahl invited them with a gesture toward the kitchen island. “Dinner should be ready close to five, and Filip will be home shortly after to join us. Can I offer you that drink yet?” 

“I wouldn’t mind some water.” Dagmar hesitated to sit. “Before I take it though, would you mind if I showed Draco where my old room is upstairs?” 

With Fru Dyrdahl’s permission, Dagmar led Draco to the living room stairs. They turned right at the top landing. Dagmar’s old room sat above the drawing room, the smallest of all four bedrooms in the place, but large nonetheless. 

The personal touches Dagmar had added during her youth to make the space her own were long gone. The walls had changed from the light blue she’d picked to a more neutral beige. She’d never had any sitting furniture in there either, but now there was a couch and a chair. 

Dagmar turned to face Draco. “This is it.” 

He smiled, gaze soft. Yet again, the urge to kiss Draco emerged in Dagmar. They were alone, but Dagmar wasn’t sure if it would be considered rude to the Dyrdahls to have effectively snuck off in their home to snog. What if Fru Dyrdahl came looking, and found them like that? How would they shake that embarrassment off at dinner? Or did Fru Dyrdahl perhaps remember what it was like to be young, rash, and smitten with the man she’d spend the rest of her life with? 

It was all so silly. Heat flooded Dagmar’s face and, as she stood in front of Draco, she couldn’t help but lapse into giggles.

“What?” Draco ran a hand over his head. “Is my hair sticking up somewhere?”

“Nei,” Dagmar said. “I’m sorry.”

“For. . .?”

Dagmar slipped her hand into Draco’s and stepped closer. Her heart pounded so hard out of combined nerves and excitement that she could feel it in her throat. “I keep ruining the chance to. . .”

She couldn’t even bring herself to say it, only burning brighter in the face.

Judging by the amused glint in Draco’s eye, he caught on anyway to what she meant. “Do you want to?”

Dagmar nodded. “I’m just too shy. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

Nerves bombarded Dagmar again when Draco came in closer, but he only rested his jaw on her shoulder after putting his arms around her middle. Dagmar relaxed, feeling silly yet again that she hadn’t even thought about hugging Draco before kissing him. It was nice in its own right, being this close. He was warm and comfortable, and his cologne a mainstay in Dagmar’s senses. She rubbed his upper back, ears sharp for anyone approaching.

Fru Dyrdahl was still audible down in the kitchen. Feeling more bold, Dagmar pulled back enough to meet Draco’s gaze. They were certainly close enough now. There was nothing in the way. And yet. . .

“I won’t do it for you,” Draco said, his tone teasing.

Dagmar snorted. “Damn.”

Draco’s pupils dilated when Dagmar studied him anew, helping to ease another flutter of anxiety. She certainly hadn’t mistaken reciprocated feelings. Maybe Draco wouldn’t take initiative for her, but he bent his neck regardless to meet her on it. It slowed Dagmar’s approach. She didn’t want to slam her nose into Draco’s face. At this point, it would probably do little, if anything, to put him off.

Dagmar couldn’t stand it anymore. She closed the gap between their lips. She expected it to feel good, but she hadn’t expected how her entire body could so easily warm from such a simple touch. Heat concentrated in her lower abdomen, churning and glowing, as Draco’s eyes cracked after they separated. At the same time, Dagmar was ridiculously giddy. She grinned and kissed him again, more deliberately than before. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unsure how she would ever stop now.

“About time, huh?” Dagmar only half-joked when they broke again. 

Draco just shrugged, looking pleased. “It was going to happen.” 

Dagmar tilted her head to peer over his shoulder and get a fresh gauge on their surroundings. They were still alone. For that, she didn’t see the harm in turning their harmless kissing into a genuine snog. Dagmar rubbed the tip of her nose against Draco’s during a break, struck by just how vulnerable he could look with his eyes closed and lips parted. She almost couldn’t even stand to look at him.

“Okay,” Dagmar said under her breath when she managed to fully pull away. “We should head back downstairs before Fru Dyrdahl comes looking for us.” 

“Might want to give it a few minutes,” Draco replied. “She’ll know precisely what we were up to as soon as she sees how swollen your lips are.” 

Dagmar chuckled. “Or yours.” 

She ran her thumb idly over them while she and Draco lingered in wait. Since they remained alone, the temptation to get right back to it was overwhelming. Dagmar had to put some distance between them in order to keep herself at bay. The longer they put off going back downstairs, the more suspicious Fru Dyrdahl would become. 

If she had any inkling as to what they’d gotten up to, she didn’t show it when they returned to the kitchen. Draco was practiced at playing it cool. Dagmar didn’t feel as confident that Fru Dyrdahl didn’t see right through her. Warmth rose in Dagmar’s cheeks as she took her seat beside Draco at the kitchen island.

“It looks quite different from what I remember,” Dagmar told her. “It’s definitely not a little girl’s bedroom anymore.” 

“I changed your room last,” Fru Dyrdahl replied with a smile as she creamed some cabbage. “You left a lot of character behind that wasn’t easy to want to remove. It didn’t help that Ingrid had just left home. Filip and I were alone again for the first time in over twenty years.” 

“What have Ingrid and Jonas been up to?” Dagmar asked.

“Ingrid’s a Healer at Olaf Kyrre, and Jonas is in Finland. Both married with kids. They’ve done well for themselves.” 

Maybe Dagmar imagined it, but Fru Dyrdahl seemed distracted. She kept looking up at the massive clock on the kitchen wall. Dagmar glanced at Draco when Fru Dyrdahl’s back was turned, but he met her furrowed brow with raised eyebrows of his own. He hadn’t noticed. 

“Is there anything I could help you with?” Dagmar asked Fru Dyrdahl.

“Nei,” she replied, but a hesitation followed. “There _is_ something I’d like to ask you two about, if you would pardon the potential awkwardness.” 

Dagmar’s throat clamped up. She must have seen them upstairs after all. 

“These aren’t exactly times of peace in the wizarding world,” Fru Dyrdahl said. “Especially not now in Britain, with Voldemort having returned. Those of us who don’t wish to affiliate with such movements have to be very careful what company we take. I’ve often wondered why your parents were in such a rush to leave Norway back in 1990, Dagmar. Rumours followed the years after that Voldemort had been spotted in Britain again. I didn’t connect the two until I did some digging after you explained in your letter that your parents had betrothed you to a Malfoy. I thought that in itself strange, since arranged marriages aren’t practiced here. When I looked into the Malfoy name, I found records from the early eighties of one Lucius Malfoy accused of being one of Voldemort’s followers. That would be your father, wouldn’t it, Draco?” 

Dagmar would’ve rather been called a rude guest for snogging upstairs. Equally speechless, she looked at Draco. Pink tinges appeared in his cheeks. 

“Yes, he’s my father,” Draco quietly admitted. 

“It was enough to make me question what kind of company we expected tonight. Perhaps you’re too young to serve him, but you might sympathize. That in itself is not company Filip and I would be comfortable hosting, especially if Voldemort is fishing for followers.” 

“I’m really sorry if we at all gave you that impression.” Defensiveness rose in Dagmar’s chest as a raw sensation, almost as if her insides had been scratched to hell. “We really are just on holiday in the area, and I wanted to visit my childhood home. That’s all.” 

“Do you sympathize with Voldemort’s ideas about pureblood supremacy?” 

“Nei.” Dagmar shook her head. “To be quite frank, Draco and I are leaving Britain once we’re finished at Hogwarts. We’ll be getting far away from all of that.” 

Fru Dyrdahl studied the two of them. 

“Good.” The corners of her mouth rose. “I apologize for ruining the pleasant atmosphere, but I had to ask. It would be rather embarrassing for other Bergensere purebloods to hear we entertained such company. Can I refill your glasses?”

Dagmar nodded and nudged her glass forward so that the levitating pitcher could better reach it. That had certainly ruined her good mood, tanking her far enough to make her nervous. Fru Dyrdahl seemed regretful to have accosted her company in such a way. Dagmar understood why she did it, and it probably wouldn’t bother her as much if it didn’t strike so close to a sad realization: her parents wouldn’t be welcome back in Bergen. They would be ostracized to the point of most likely being driven out. It hurt Dagmar that that might rub off on her. She’d grown to really love this place again, and she didn’t want something like her parents’ politics to stop her from ever coming back. 

Conversation carried on, but it was certainly more strained. Thankfully, Herr Dyrdahl arrived home from work at the Ministry in a stellar mood. He greeted both Dagmar and Draco enthusiastically. As soon as Draco caught wind Herr Dyrdahl worked in the Norwegian Department of Magical Games and Sports, he mentioned his position as Team Captain and Seeker, and then Quidditch became the grand topic of discussion through dinner. Herr Dyrdahl and Draco spearheaded it, leaving Dagmar and Fru Dyrdahl to occasionally make silent eye contact. 

They were invited to stay for coffee afterward. They took it out onto the covered veranda. When six-thirty rolled around and dinner had digested, Dagmar refused a refill of her coffee cup.

“We should probably get going,” she told the Dyrdahls. “We’re going back to Britain tomorrow, and I haven’t packed at all. My things have spread to all four corners of my room.” 

All the Quidditch talk had calmed Draco down enough for him to be genuinely disappointed that Dagmar didn’t just look for an excuse to leave. His mind had been efficiently redirected, while Dagmar couldn’t get hers anywhere near to back on track. She remained stiff while saying goodbye in the living room, tensing further when Fru Dyrdahl took her gently by her elbows and smiled. 

“I can tell you’re still upset about what I said,” she told her. “I only hope it hasn’t turned you against the prospect of coming back. If you and Draco happen to be in Bergen again, please, by all means, let us know so that we can have you again.” 

Dagmar finally managed to relax. “Okay. And it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to be asked that.” 

“I’d rather that be why you’re concerned about it, than anything else.” Fru Dyrdahl winked. “It was good seeing you again. And good meeting you, Draco. Have a good final year at Hogwarts, and best of luck beyond that.”


	14. Homecoming

The unpleasant feeling Fru Dyrdahl had left Draco with after inquiring about his father tugged at him again as he changed out of his evening clothes at the inn. 

Dagmar beat Draco down to the bar. She’d changed as well and put her hair back, but hadn’t bothered to remove her makeup. Draco could still smell her perfume too. For a moment, Draco felt better. Dagmar was easily the most attractive woman in the room, and Draco was the one that she expected to sit beside her. He felt again that, without their existing rapport, Draco would be too intimidated to approach her. Dagmar smiled as she greeted him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

The bartender came by, asked Draco if he wanted his usual, and then moved on once he’d set down a smoking bottle. Draco sipped it, grateful for a follow-up from earlier’s coffee that might counteract the caffeine. 

“Look,” Dagmar broke the silence. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I didn’t think she would ask that. If I thought there was a chance, I wouldn’t have suggested we go there.” 

“It’s okay,” Draco assured her. “She had every right to know who she’d invited into her home. I wasn’t offended by it.” 

Draco had parsed enough to know that was true. He still didn’t understand the source of his bad feeling, though. It felt like his insides crumbled slightly, sloughing off into a void. Now that he’d rejoined Dagmar, it didn’t feel quite as bad. There was some balance to it. 

“I didn’t like our welcome feeling conditional.” Dagmar sipped her wine. “Guess that’s what I get for my parents blowing off to Britain like they did, even if it was just coincidence. I was a little naive. I didn’t think anyone would make the connection between them and You-Know-Who from such a distance.” 

“She might not have, if she didn’t look into my family,” Draco said. “For all you know, it could’ve been seeing my father’s name associated with the Death Eaters that put her onto the idea.” 

As soon as he said that, Draco knew what horribleness plagued him. He’d never been made to feel shame before for something he couldn’t help. 

“I got the impression she thought we were possibly there on their behalf,” Dagmar replied. “That bit she said about You-Know-Who looking for followers. That’s what she meant, right?” 

“Maybe.” Draco shrugged. “At least she didn’t go any further once we separated ourselves from them. She didn’t make us answer for their beliefs. She didn’t even ask what they were.” 

“Ja.” 

Draco rubbed Dagmar’s back, leading to her head resting on his shoulder. 

“How about you?” she asked. “That must have been really uncomfortable for a complete stranger to ask such a personal question about your father.” 

“Yeah.” If Dagmar’s head wasn’t on his shoulder, Draco would’ve shrugged again. “I probably deserved it, though, to know what that feels like.” 

“Nobody deserves to feel like that.” 

Draco disagreed, so he didn’t say anything. If anyone deserved it, it was him. He’d targeted other people for less than this. And why? On this side of the beginning of summer, he couldn’t even really answer it. 

“Regardless of all that, I really enjoyed it here,” Draco changed the subject. “I’m not looking forward to going home tomorrow.” 

“Me neither.” Dagmar lifted her head and sat up straighter again on her seat. “At least if we get bored, we know how to make a week fly by. I’m probably going to Diagon Alley sooner than later to pick up my school books. Might as well give myself a briefer before we’re back to it in September.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I ought to do about the same.” 

“I could pick yours up for you, if you like.” 

“I need to buy new robes,” Draco said. “Why don’t we go together?”

Dagmar sipped her wine, gaze averted. It hit Draco that, despite everything that had happened between them, the feelings they harboured for each other, and all the work they’d put in, Dagmar still would prefer not to be seen with him by someone they knew. That hurt far worse than anything Fru Dyrdahl had said to him that evening. 

“Never mind,” he hastily followed up. “Forget it.” 

“Draco—”

“I said forget it,” he repeated. “I got carried away and thought this week might have changed something.” 

“Did you talk to Pansy?”

“I was going to when we got back.” 

“So what’s changed, then?” Dagmar swivelled her seat to better face him. “What do you think would happen if we went strolling together through Diagon Alley and crossed paths with her?”

“That’s all fine and true, but me not having talked to Pansy is just a convenient way for you to get around that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.” 

Dagmar pressed her lips together. That she looked uncomfortable was enough to count for confirmation from Draco. He’d really enjoyed the freedom this week allowed them to forget everything about where they had come from, right down to who they were. Draco felt nothing short of delighted to be attached to someone as intelligent, attractive, and kind as Dagmar was. He just wished she could feel the same about him. 

“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you,” Dagmar said. “Not like you’ve been lately. I don’t even think it’s relevant whether or not I’m ready for our relationship to be public knowledge. Pansy is going to make our lives living hell as soon as she finds out, and I’d rather avoid that.” 

“It’s relevant to _me_ that you’re not ready for people to know about us,” Draco pressed. 

“You’ve spent six years antagonizing anyone that believed anything different than you, or _was_ different than you.” Dagmar’s gaze remained steadfast on her wine. “I’ll never condone that. I don’t want people to think I might so soon after my family’s manor has been searched for potential connection to You-Know-Who. Then there’s the nasty little fact that we _are_ connected to him. Not that I think it’s fully your fault because of your upbringing, but you wasted no time convincing our sphere in the wizarding world that even if your family really had nothing to do with You-Know-Who, your beliefs still line up with his. Considering nowadays that lives are literally on the line because of those beliefs, you have to realize it’s not personal.”

Draco failed to see how it wasn’t. The pit of shame that had materialized within him thanks to Fru Dyrdahl had nothing on how it felt now. It hurt, eating away at his stomach and up his throat. 

He slid off his seat. “I think I’m going to bed.”

Dagmar looked up. “Are you sure?” 

“What’s there to discuss?” Draco replied. “You’re right. There’s nothing I can say to defend myself.” 

Draco half-expected that Dagmar might follow in order to carry on the conversation, but she didn’t. Laid on his back in his bed, Draco couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed by that. He felt terrible enough already without her added help. On the other hand, he’d grown accustomed to turning to her whenever he needed something. For her to be the source of his discontent left him quite alone.

Draco undressed and decided just to try and go to sleep early. It didn’t work. His mind worked overtime despite its fatigue, and the sun had set before Draco finally drifted off. He woke up to sunlight, which didn’t say a whole lot about what time it was, this far north. 

Attempts to fall back asleep failed. Draco yawned constantly while getting ready to meet up with Dagmar. They’d agreed to touch base around ten o’clock since they needed to vacate their rooms by eleven. 

He knocked at her door. Draco couldn’t decide if it pleased him or not that Dagmar looked just as tired as he felt. 

“Are you ready to go?” she asked. 

Draco nodded. “You?”

Each step downstairs with his things increased the weight pulling down on Draco’s heart. He’d so enjoyed this time together. If Draco had the choice, he wouldn’t go home at all. 

In a year, permanent escape would be possible for them. They could both start fresh. Then, they wouldn’t have to have discussions like the one last night. 

They checked out with Sigrid and took a direct floo line to London. The weight on Draco’s heart hit his stomach in form of a pit as he stood inside his manor’s great room again. 

“Where should I put your Nimbus?” Dagmar asked. 

“I’ll take care of it.” 

She headed for the foyer stairs after handing it off. Draco left his bag in the great room to go put his brooms away, melancholy seeping in as he unlatched the storage shed. A week ago, their primary drama had been Draco mistaking Dagmar’s touch for a bug. After how yesterday ended, it hardly felt like hours prior they’d been alone upstairs at the Dyrdahls’ home. Draco could still feel the ghost of soft, pillowy lips against his own. Now that things weren’t smooth between him and Dagmar, the memory made Draco more dejected than happy. 

He headed back into the great room to grab his things and take them upstairs. Draco half-expected his and Dagmar’s presence to be noticed by now. Since he hadn’t yet been accosted by his mum about how his week had gone, Draco assumed they just weren’t home. 

He was halfway through unpacking when a knock came at his door. 

“Yes?” he answered. 

“It’s me,” Dagmar announced herself. “Can I come in?” 

Draco opened the door for her. She passed him by, freshly awkward in his space. 

“I went to put my things away, and the closet was empty,” Dagmar said as Draco closed the door. “My parents’ stuff is all gone too.” 

“That’s good news, right?” Draco asked. “It means they went home.” 

“Unless they’re in Azkaban right now, but I feel like I would’ve gotten an owl if that were the case.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “If they’ve gone home, that means I’ll be leaving too.” 

Draco’s heart sunk anew. “Right.” 

“I’d really like to try and settle up on last night,” Dagmar said. “I don’t want us to go our separate ways on that note. I feel terrible about what I said.” 

“Why? It was true.” 

Draco determinedly separated out his dirty laundry so he didn’t have to look at Dagmar. She sighed. 

“It doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad,” Dagmar told him. “Since you didn’t argue with me, does that mean you didn’t want it to be true either?” 

“It’s not going to matter what I do,” Draco replied. “I’ll never change anybody’s mind about me, even if I was the most well-behaved prat in all of Hogwarts from here on out. I’m not exactly keen on spending my first year with you as an embarrassment you have to hide away. What’s that setting us up for? Nothing good, seems to me.” 

“It’s not something I won’t budge on,” Dagmar said. “I’m really proud of you for making so much of an effort to step outside of your bubble. I hardly expected you to. I thought our individual beliefs would always just have to be something we agreed to disagree on, or never discussed. That said, if we’re going to have any public contact at school, there are some things we need to consider.” 

“Like what?” 

“Pansy, for one.” Dagmar sat on the chair by Draco’s desk with her legs folded underneath her. “I have no illusions that as soon as she finds out about us, she’s going to go off the deep end. We’ve never been friendly. She’s always been rather unkind, actually. I just don’t know how far she’ll take that. I’m a little scared to find out.” 

“It’s not like she could do anything.” Draco sat down on the end of his bed. “If she hexed you in your sleep, we’d know who did it. It’s not like it would make me ditch you or anything, so why would she bother?” 

“It would make her feel better, and that might be all she cares about.” 

“I’ll handle Pansy,” Draco promised. “Even if we’re not together anymore, I feel like she’d still listen to me if I told her to leave you alone.” 

Dagmar pulled a face. She clearly didn’t trust that. 

“What else do we need to consider?” Draco asked. 

“I won’t date a bully.” Dagmar shrugged. “Arranged marriage or not. I just think it’s a really unattractive trait in a person.” 

“Honestly, the only thought that could let me get close to sleep last night was that when we get back to school, I’d just put my head down.” 

“I guess. . .you know, I’ve practically demanded that you give so much up for my sake. I should be willing to sacrifice something too. If you can stand the test of not being a raging git when we go back to school, then I don’t care what anyone says or thinks.” 

Draco was happy for that, but he didn’t like the idea that Dagmar might suffer from being associated with him. It made him feel like a pox on his social circle. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I’m glad you’re willing to meet me halfway. I don’t like feeling like your friends are more important than someone you’d be married to one day.” 

“My friends’ lives and wellbeing are more important than your beliefs,” Dagmar elaborated. “It’s not that I would choose them over you. It’s that I want them to feel safe in a world where, right now, an active number of people see them as a scourge that needs to be cleaned away.” 

“Right.” 

When Dagmar put it that way, Draco understood completely her reluctance. It wasn’t all about social standing, or that she not end the school year friendless for the sheer sake of it. 

Dagmar didn’t look as torn up now, as when she’d first arrived. Her shoulders tended to hunch up when she was upset or defensive, but they’d relaxed now. 

“So what exactly do you want?” she asked. “When I was thinking about all this, I realized that I’ve been pretty demanding. You’ve hardly asked for anything, really.” 

“That’s not true,” Draco said. “I asked you to give me a shot.” 

“Oh, come on.” Dagmar smiled anyway. 

“I asked you to leave Britain when we’re done school,” Draco pointed out in a more serious manner. “That’s a pretty big deal.” 

“I’m fine with that, though.” 

“And I’ve been fine with what you asked of me.” Draco leaned back on his palms. “I didn’t want to be a Death Eater anyway. Fine without kids. I’d say it didn’t hurt to find some self-awareness along the way, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.” 

Dagmar’s smile grew strained at that. She moved from the chair to beside Draco on the bed, close enough for the sides of their legs to press. “We’re okay, then?” 

“I’m good if you’re good.” 

“I’m good.” 

To have settled things helped take the edge off Draco’s lingering bad feelings that stemmed from Fru Dyrdahl’s line of questioning. With Dagmar so close to him again, Draco was more keen to forget all that in lieu of what had happened upstairs at the Dyrdahl house. Dagmar seemed just as inclined, judging by a look of expectation. Her smile briefly turned into a grin when Draco sat up straighter. Draco didn’t think she could be any prettier when her lips parted and she glanced down at his. 

Maybe because they’d had a disagreement in the meantime, Dagmar’s lips felt even softer today than they had yesterday. She was less nervous too. They weren’t in danger here of being interrupted, spotted, or deemed bad house guests. Snogging his future wife in his bedroom was hardly an issue of decency in Draco’s mind. 

He made a noise in his throat as a thought occurred to him. Dagmar stayed close as their kiss prematurely ended, just as discontented at the loss of contact. 

“There _is_ something I want,” he told her. “We can’t really say we’re engaged, since I haven’t proposed.”

“True.” 

“We’ve already said we’re giving this an honest go,” Draco said. “We ought to make at least that much official.”

To Draco’s great fear, Dagmar hesitated. She at least kept smiling, but it wasn’t a good sign that she looked away. 

“I’d prefer you broke up with your girlfriend first,” she told him. “It doesn’t feel as honest, otherwise.” 

“And snogging does?” 

Dagmar laughed, going red in the face. “I suppose you make a good point.”

“We’ve said all along that the arrangement makes things a bit different,” Draco pressed, for Dagmar didn’t seem otherwise against the idea. “I was planning on writing Pansy and just getting it over with. I don’t think there’s anything I could say to her that’ll soften the blow or make her understand, so it’s best I just make it a clean cut and let her start moving on with her life.”

“That’s good.” Dagmar placed a hand on Draco’s neck, her thumb stroking his jaw. “I’d say we ought to take this conversation back up once you’ve done that, but you’re right. The chance to make a clean break is quite well past.” 

“Meaning?” 

“What’s the point in waiting?” Dagmar kissed the bridge of Draco’s nose before nuzzling it with her own. “We’re so beyond the point of disrespecting our old betrothals.” 

Draco hadn’t really thought about Blaise much through all this, since he and Dagmar weren’t nearly as entangled as Draco was with Pansy. Still, Blaise was his mate, and here Draco had been galavanting all around Europe with a woman Blaise thought he was going to marry. 

“We should both figure that out sooner than later,” Draco said when they broke apart again, his forehead against Dagmar’s and lips swollen. 

Their noses brushed as Dagmar nodded. “I’ll write Blaise today too.” 

“Okay.” 

Draco saw the flaw now in snogging like this in a private place where they wouldn’t be bothered. Nothing but themselves stopped them from getting carried away, and Draco felt particularly weak about it. His body remembered all the steps that would take him to laying between a woman’s legs. It surged ahead of him like a leashed skrewt, and he was just about helpless to stop himself. It took every shred of his eviscerated self-control to back off, electing for a chaste press rather than to start nibbling on Dagmar’s bottom lip. 

Dagmar chuckled, her cheeks aglow. Draco worried when she dipped her head that she saw the evidence of her effect on him. 

“I should let you finish unpacking,” she said. “I could stand to get started on that letter to Blaise while I wait to find out if I’m going home.” 

“Right.” 

It didn’t make sense that she completely remove herself from Draco’s presence. She could’ve returned to the chair she’d somewhat claimed during her time here. If Dagmar was going home, the two of them ought to spend as much time together as possible. 

Dagmar must have noticed that she turned him on. Women were lucky that they could hide that, and Dagmar most likely left to spare Draco the embarrassment of trying to obscure it in her presence. Draco would require several minutes of distraction before he could even stand up. He didn’t expect such relatively tame affection to bring up an erection. He normally had much more self-control than that. What was he, twelve again? 

It _had_ been a little while. Draco couldn’t remember if he’d gone this long without sex since he started having it. He also wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this strongly for Pansy. His attraction to her was mostly physical, and hormones of course muddled everything up. 

That was irrelevant now. Draco was starting over again, and other than his physical reaction to Dagmar, he didn’t feel pressed to rush things. He could take care of himself on that. 

His bag sat abandoned on the floor, still only half-empty. With a clearer mind and less-tense frame, Draco took a seat at his desk. Nerves cropped up as he pulled out a piece of parchment, some ink, and a quill. 

_Sorry I haven’t reached out lately. I’ve been abroad. When would you have time to meet up?_

_Draco_

Draco debated the apology in the first sentence. He owed Pansy that, but it might tip her off that something was different. Because he hadn’t talked to her in nearly a month, Draco expected he’d be receiving an earful. 

This wasn’t something that Draco had to fix. That took some of the weight off his situation as he sought out Ulysses. He took his letter out onto his balcony and let out a long, low whistle. 

After a delay, a brown mass emerged from some nearby trees. Ulysses’ blurry, orange eyes reminded Draco of Hyperion. His owl looked just about as dangerous to have been woken up, yet keen. 

“I have a letter for Pansy,” Draco said as he tied it to his leg. “Hang around there until she writes back, will you?” 

Ulysses hooted in his usual dignified manner. His irateness to have been forgotten for so long came with a clip of Draco’s hand when Ulysses spread his wings. The railing shook from the power of his take-off. 

Draco stilled inside his balcony door. He could hear voices in the great room. Draco rushed for the foyer stairs. 

“I really appreciate all the hospitality,” Dagmar was saying. “Would it be okay if I just went up to say goodbye, first?”

Draco’s father replied in his usual drawl, “That’ll be him coming now, I daresay. . .” 

In the great room, Dagmar stood in front of the fireplace with her still-packed bag from Bergen. Draco’s parents stood with her in their traveling cloaks. 

His mum smiled too knowingly for Draco’s liking. “We’ll give you two a minute alone. Come find us in the dining room when you’re done, Draco.” 

Draco avoided their gaze, warm already in the cheeks. Once they were gone, he crossed the room to join Dagmar beside the fireplace. 

“Everything’s fine with the Ministry,” she told him, exhaling afterward in relief. “My parents went home Wednesday.” 

“That’s good,” Draco said. 

“Still. . .” Dagmar slipped her hand into his. “I wish I could’ve stayed longer.” 

“I wish you could’ve too.” 

“Write to me.”

“I will once Ulysses is back.” Draco paused. “I’ll let you know how it all goes.” 

Draco kissed her, and Dagmar pulled him into a hug afterward. They hadn’t done any of that before the previous day, and now Draco wondered why not. Dagmar was soft and warm to hold. Her embrace was equally comforting. 

“I’ll miss you,” Dagmar told him. “We’ll see each other soon?” 

“Definitely.” 

Letting Dagmar go was hard. Watching her leave through the fireplace was harder. Draco’s mood sunk into nothingness as the green flames died and he was left home alone with his parents. 

He more floated than walked through to the dining room. His parents chatted in low tones, hushing when he arrived. 

His mum smiled anew. “How was Bergen?”

“Good,” Draco said, keeping it simple. 

“You two are getting on all right?”

“Just fine.” 

“Good.” His mum stood. When she passed Draco by in the archway, she squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll leave you with your father, then.” 

Draco’s stomach sunk at those words. Had he done something worthy of punishment? He racked his mind for what. His father didn’t look particularly upset, though. Quite the opposite. 

His father gestured at the chair his mum had left. “Sit.” 

Draco did. 

“We managed to get everything cleaned up from this business with the Ministry,” his father told him. “The Ramstads have been cleared of suspicion and been offered a heartfelt apology from the Minister himself.” 

“That’s good.” 

“During the course of clean-up, the question arose as to where the Ministry got the idea in the first place that Erik and Hildegard ought be looked into.” His father raised an eyebrow. “Without giving away too much information, it is perhaps best that when you return to Hogwarts, you have no further interaction with Vincent and Gregory.” 

“Crabbe and Goyle?” Draco furrowed his brow, confused. “They—?”

“Not on purpose, and not them specifically,” his father said. “I’m sure they will be told the same about you. I just don’t want there to be any. . .confusion, if they give you a cold shoulder.” 

“Er—right.” 

“That was all I needed to say.” His father stood. “The matter is resolved. That’s all that matters.” 


	15. Work for the Owls

Dagmar stepped from Malfoy Manor’s great room into her own out of the fireplace.

“Mum?” she called. “Dad?”

A noise sounded from above and behind Dagmar. The smaller of their two libraries overlooked the great room. With a book in hand, Dagmar’s mum smiled from over the railing. 

“Up here, jenta mi,” she replied. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.” 

“I left in my note we’d be back today,” Dagmar said. “Just a minute. I’ll come up.” 

Dagmar headed up the foyer’s curved staircase. At the top, currently-closed double doors led into Dagmar’s bedroom. She left her bag in front of them and headed across the landing for the upstairs library. She stalled when she saw what a state of mess it was in. Books had been pulled off the shelves, some open on the table, and a few loose pages swept toward the railing. 

“They didn’t leave anything unturned, did they?” Dagmar glumly asked. 

“Nei,” her mum sighed. “But it’s all right. I’d rather be here organizing them than sitting in Azkaban.” 

Dagmar’s stomach tossed unpleasantly at the thought. “Where’s Dad?” 

“Straightening up the drawing room.” Her mum’s smile turned tight. “That seems to be where they focused most of their efforts.” 

Dagmar nodded. 

“How was Bergen?” her mum asked. 

“It was great.” Dagmar moved a small pile of books off the nearest chair so that she could sit down. “I really enjoyed going back. Draco and I had fun.” 

“You two are getting along all right, then?”

“Mhm.” Dagmar willed her cheeks not to darken in colour, but she wasn’t sure that she succeeded. 

“Have you spoken to Blaise yet?”

“Oh—nei.” Dagmar shook her head. “I planned to soon. Draco hasn’t talked to Pansy yet either.”

“You should have an easier time with that.” Her mum set another book up on the shelf, her wavy, blonde hair swinging along with her. “Blaise already knows.” 

“I thought he might,” Dagmar said. “I wonder why he never sent me an owl.” 

Her mum hesitated. “He might be aware we were dealing with an embarrassing situation. It was mine and Narcissa’s initial suspicion that Luzia was the one to tip off the Ministry about our manor. She was agreeable about ending the arrangement, but the timing was dubious.” 

Dagmar frowned. “Why would she do that?”

“She doesn’t sympathize with the Dark Lord.” Her mum shrugged dismissively. “She’s more like the purebloods back in Bergen, if you remember how wishy-washy they were. That’s Luzia’s prerogative if she wishes to stay out of everything, but it was a possibility.” 

“She didn’t tip off the Ministry, though?” Dagmar’s heart quietly pounded in her chest. “You only thought that at first?” 

“Mhm,” her mum confirmed. “You don’t spend time at school with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, do you?”

“Can’t say I do.” 

“You would be best to keep it that way,” her mum said. “I’m sure they’ll be told the same by _their_ mothers about you and Draco.” 

“What about their fathers?” Since they were both Death Eaters, Dagmar put two-and-two together. “What happens to them?” 

“That’ll be for the Dark Lord to decide, once he finds them.” 

Dagmar nodded, then stood. “I might go unpack.” 

“Oh, I have other things I wanted to talk to you about.” Her mum’s gaze softened again and the manor lost its sudden darkness, as if a cloud had moved away from where it blocked the sun. “Your dad and I reckon some relaxation after all this mess is in order. What would you think about heading to Nice? We could come back right after your birthday, like we’d planned.”

Dagmar thought about everything she hadn’t been able to do during the one day she’d spent there with Draco. She would have something to tell her friends about when she returned to school as well, that didn’t entail her family’s manor being upended by Ministry officials. 

“I was thinking I might get the jump on studying for NEWTs,” Dagmar said. “And I wanted to touch base with Blaise about everything so that we don’t go back to school awkward. Would you give me time to do that? Run to Diagon Alley and meet up with him?”

“Sure. How does leaving Wednesday sound?”

Dagmar shrugged. “Okay.” 

She tried to take a step off toward her room, but her mum stopped her again by saying her name. 

“We left your room to you,” she told Dagmar with a sympathetic look. “Nowhere was spared a search.” 

Throat tight, Dagmar nodded again. She hadn’t thought about that, that her room was equally suspicious as the rest of the manor. Before Dagmar could even look in there, she felt violated at the idea of unknown witches and wizards from the Ministry combing through her things. 

Her heart sunk as she opened the door. It looked as if it’d been ransacked. Dagmar’s things were all out of order, some in completely different places or just left on the floor if they were unimportant enough. Dagmar set her bag down and closed her door, unable to look away from the mess. Even her bed had been torn apart, the pale gold comforter half-laid on the floor and the sheets looking like someone had taken a spirited roll through them. 

Dagmar started picking things up to put away. A lump formed in her throat, not of sadness but of anger. Her mum had the gall to stand over in the library, picking up the pieces of their lives. She didn’t even appreciate how close they had come to ruin. What would Dagmar have even done if her parents went to Azkaban? She wouldn’t be able to come home. If they were exposed as Death Eaters, what would Dagmar’s last year at Hogwarts have been like? No doubt Hermione wouldn’t ever talk to her again. Dagmar couldn’t think of anyone else that would either. Other than Draco, she would be completely and utterly alone.

Anger was an easy emotion to ride on while Dagmar put her room back in order. She sat on her remade bed when she was done, not at all keen on putting away the contents of her bag on top of everything else. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with herself now. The option to head down the hall and bug Draco was passed. 

Dagmar sat at her desk in order to pen a letter: 

_Unless you’re in the middle of writing me, I guess I’ll be the first one to send something off._

_I’m not very happy to be home. You should see the state of my room. Did your parents talk to you about why this might have happened? Next time we see each other, I’d like to get your opinion on it. I’m not totally sure what to think._

_Mum wants to go to Nice still for my birthday. We’re leaving on Wednesday. I asked for enough time to run to Diagon Alley and grab my books. I’m sure I’ll be able to find time to do some reading during the three weeks we’ll be gone. To tell you the truth, my heart’s not completely in it. I probably won’t spend much time with my parents. I’m not happy with them after all this business._

_Do you want to try and see each other before I go?_

_Dagmar_

She sealed it up and headed downstairs to the owlery attached to the sunroom. Her family owned a handful of owls that had just roamed free while the Ministry occupied their home. Predictably, due to the midday hour and the owls’ lack of a fortified habitat in the meantime, they all had their heads tucked under their wings. 

“Teeko,” Dagmar gently said as she sidled up next to a cinnamon and white great horned owl. Amber eyes slid open. “I have a letter for you to send.” 

Teeko emitted a soft hoot. He rustled his feathers, but otherwise didn’t have anything to say about a job.

“I’m sure the lot of you have been pretty bored while we were gone,” Dagmar said. “Was the hunting at least good?” 

Teeko hooted again, making Dagmar smile. 

“Certainly none of you look like you starved.” Dagmar checked the string holding her letter to Teeko’s leg. “This goes to Draco at Malfoy Manor. I’m sure you’ve flown there before, right?” 

Teeko narrowed his eyes. Dagmar wasn’t sure what offended him, that she’d pointed out his body was a little rounder than when Dagmar last saw him, or that he couldn’t find his way somewhere. As if determined to prove himself either way, Teeko was gone in a flash out the window, and quickly shrinking against the southwestern horizon. 

* * *

Draco screwed up his face when, less than a couple hours later, Ulysses landed on his balcony railing. For extra measure since Draco dragged his feet, Ulysses tapped his beak against the window. 

“Thanks,” he told the owl after untying Pansy’s reply. Ulysses pushed his head up against a mindless, gentle pet while Draco read: 

_About time I heard from you! I was just about to come by and make sure you were still breathing or hadn’t left the country for good._

_Come by anytime you like. I’m looking forward to it._

_Pansy_

“I don’t have anything to send back,” Draco said to Ulysses. “Thanks again.” 

Draco had saved some chicken from lunch, which Ulysses happily carried off back to his current favourite spot for a kip. Draco leaned on his railing with crossed arms, watching until he disappeared into the trees. There was nothing else he could think to do that would put off going. With only a vague idea of how he was going to do this, Draco focused intently on the house he’d visited so very many times before. He was standing there when he opened his eyes. 

Pansy sat on the swing out front, legs crossed and a thumbnail in her mouth. She perked up when they noticed each other. A huge grin overtook her, making Draco’s heart quicken not out of affection but fear and dread.

“Hey!” She jumped up and headed toward him. Draco stopped. “It’s so good to see you.”

Pansy slowed a handful of feet away from him, her grin melting away. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

This was not the time to clam up. Draco rubbed his neck, for he couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d ever felt so uncomfortable. This was even worse than when Fru Dyrdahl brought up Draco’s father. 

“I can’t stay long,” Draco told only the first lie he intended to speak during this conversation. “We just need to have a quick talk.” 

“Okay. . .?” 

Pansy looked as nervous as Draco felt, her eyes wide in that vulnerable way that Draco suddenly hated to see. He hadn’t thought on purpose about just how damaging this might be to Pansy. It hit him now. Hopefully, she would be all right. 

There was no point dragging it out. “I’m backing out of the arranged marriage.” 

The fibre that held Pansy upright twanged like a string, reverberating through her. Her face fell and she blinked rapidly. “Come again? I don’t think I understood.” 

“I’m backing out,” Draco said again. “I don’t want to get married.” 

“To me?” Pansy replied. “Or just in general?”

“I don’t know.” Draco didn’t have the mind about him to come up with an answer. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. It’s not right for me. I’m sorry.” 

“But that’s fine.” Pansy took a step closer. “If you’re not ready, we can just wait. We don’t have to get engaged this summer. We can wait until after we’re done at school.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

Pansy searched Draco. “So it _is_ me, then.” 

“I’m sorry,” Draco tried again. “I know it’s coming sudden, but I just can’t go through with it. I wanted to be sure before I told you.” 

“I thought you were abroad.” Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the last three weeks? Thinking about how you’d dump me? Is that why you ignored me the whole summer so far?”

“It’s not like you wrote me either,” Draco said before he could help himself. 

“Because I was waiting for you to show up with rings!” Pansy shrieked, jabbing a finger at him. “I can’t believe how much of an idiot I am. Here I thought you were coming up with how to propose to me, after _all_ we’ve been through and _all_ we’ve had, Draco! You’re just going to end it?”

She couldn’t seem to settle on angry or disconsolate. Tears welled up in her eyes, but that didn’t lend to any answer either. Draco had dealt with Pansy in both camps, and neither was preferred over the other. There was nothing he could ever do to help her along on it. Only time ever did. 

“I gave you everything.” Her voice trembled. “ _Everything_. And you’re leaving me with nothing.” 

“I’m sorry,” was all Draco could think to say. “This wasn’t easy—”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“I should go,” Draco replied. “I don’t think you’re going to get what you need from me being here.” 

“Draco Malfoy!”

A dangerous tone stopped Draco in his attempted escape. He looked back at Pansy’s trembling form, her hands balled into fists at her side. Pansy’s eyes lined red, irritated by unshed tears and sheer rage. 

Her voice shook as she forced herself to remain calm. “I want to know why.” 

Just as Draco didn’t know how to explain his disillusionment to Dagmar, he had no idea how to tell Pansy. Spending time with Dagmar had given him some sort of idea at least, for he now had something to compare his relationship with Pansy to. 

“I don’t think I ever cared about you as much as you cared about me,” he said. “I don’t know that I was ever really in love, and I think I’d know that by now. I’m not excited about the future we planned. I felt trapped, and like I’d be trapping you too.” 

Pansy scoffed. “I can work with that. I don’t care if you don’t love me. I love you enough for both of us.” 

“You think you can, but I know _I_ can’t. You’ll thank me later.” 

“Can’t we just try—?”

“No,” Draco firmly said. “It’s done. If it was up for discussion, we’d be discussing it. You’re bargaining on something I’m not going to change my mind on. Now, I’m leaving.” 

She’d opened her mouth to reply again when Draco apparated back to his balcony. He wished he could stay and give her all the answers she wanted, but then he would never get away. Pansy would hold him there for as long as she possibly could and, truth be told, just to keep the peace Draco very briefly half-considered conceding. It had nothing to do with actually wanting Pansy—just avoiding what destruction she might wreak given this outcome.

It was done, at least. Draco had said his piece. Even if it didn’t feel like it in the moment, he’d done the right thing. Well, he should’ve done it three weeks ago, really. 

Wondering if snogging Dagmar while traveling with her constituted cheating was not something Draco needed on his mind right now. He felt enough like hot rubbish. He couldn’t convince himself to do anything but lay in bed and wallow in how terribly everything inside him ached. Draco hardly lifted his head when a fresh tapping came at his window. 

He vaguely recognized the owl as one that delivered post to his mum once in a while. Draco’s heart sunk. Had Pansy rallied herself enough to write and send off a follow-up letter? 

Thankfully not. Draco felt marginally better that, when he unrolled the tightly wound scroll, he recognized the hand as belonging to Dagmar. 

She didn’t put much into the letter, but clearly Draco wasn’t the only one having a bad day. What a shame, for it had started off so well. Draco didn’t have enough heart or motivation yet in him to respond. He laid back down in bed with Dagmar’s letter, rereading it once in a while for the sake of some kind of contact, and hurting all the more because he missed her. She was going to Nice for three weeks? It was already hard enough without her for half a day. 

He drug himself up to his desk to reply: 

_I’m surprised I got an owl from you so soon. It’s a good surprise, though. Things aren’t so great here either, so nice to hear from someone I’m feeling good toward at the moment._

_I’d love to get together before you go. Your place, mine, or somewhere else entirely? I’m a little confused about what my parents told me too, so wouldn’t hurt to compare notes._

_I just got home from Pansy’s. It went about as well as you could imagine. I don’t feel too great about it. More like a steaming pile of dragon dung. I can tell you more about it when we next see each other, but for now the important thing is it’s over. I’m sure it’s too early to ask, but I wouldn’t suppose you’ve talked to Blaise yet?_

_Cheers,  
_ _Draco_

Draco’s mood right now was about the exact opposite of cheerful. Still, through all the guilt, the weight of that impending break-up was now off his shoulders. Somewhere underneath all this gloom, he did feel lighter.

Dagmar’s owl waited patiently out on the balcony railing. He put out his leg and stood nice and still for Draco. If Draco had known to expect a second owl today, he would’ve saved more meat from lunch. Instead, he sent the great horned owl off with a ruffle of his feathers.


	16. No Closure

The rising summer heat compelled Dagmar to keep both sets of windows open in her room. It also made it much more convenient to receive owls from Draco. 

They'd already tired out Teeko. He rested down in the owlery with Ulysses, who'd needed water and a good sleep before making his way home again. Dagmar had switched them over to her family’s tawny owl, Stix. Even she was starting to show signs of fatigue. Dagmar kept a stash of snacks suitable for the owls in her room, so at least they weren't sent off hungry. 

"Last one for a while," she promised Stix as she tied the latest scroll to her leg. "It says in here to keep you for the afternoon. You'll probably find yourself a good meal in their garden. Make sure you bug Draco for a treat, ja?" 

Stix cooed and took off. 

By the time Draco had inquired about whether or not Dagmar reached out to Blaise, she'd sent him an owl intent to do just that. Blaise was keen to meet, so they'd arranged for a three o'clock lunch date at Florean Fortescue's on Monday. It was currently just a little after eleven. Dagmar had stopped getting ready to go long enough to write a reply to Draco. 

The clothes she'd picked left her warm while just sitting at her desk in the cross-breeze. Dagmar wasn't exactly sure what was appropriate to wear, since dressing for Blaise was much different now. She also didn't want to suffocate from the heat while shopping before their meet-up. Dagmar went back into her closet at a loss until she finally chose a loose-fitting sundress printed with blue and white flowers. Other than where it tied at the waist, it was as modest and breezy as could be achieved on such a stupidly hot day. 

There was nothing she could do with her hair that would keep it from contributing to her overheating. She opted to leave it down just in case its swinging movement as she walked created some kind of cooling effect. After a quick snack and checking that she had enough coin in her purse to get through the afternoon, Dagmar was off through the fireplace. 

Diagon Alley wasn't as packed as Dagmar expected, although still quite congested. She couldn't help but idly think how much more tolerable crowds like this were when she was with Draco. While up in Bergen, they'd retreated into their own world whenever they faced as many people as this. Dagmar felt all the more alone without him.

In order to maintain her social battery, Dagmar focused on her list. She started at Madam Malkin's for some new robes. Her next stop was Flourish and Blotts. After that, she went to the apothecary, Madam Primpernelle's, and then Eeylops as a favour to her parents. Her last stop was the stationary store which, while it should have been the least exciting, turned out to hold a marvellous find.

Dagmar inspected one notebook of the pair, and read the descriptor tag.

“Ah, messengers,” the attendant said when he came over. “Hogwarts, I take it? Very handy to have! Save your parchment when passing notes to your friends. Give the second notebook to whoever you wish to communicate with, and the words will appear on their end as you’ve written them in yours.”

“How much?”

“Five galleons for the pair.”

Dagmar held out the set she looked at. “I’ll add these to my other purchases.”

She was so excited to go home and send one off to Draco that she almost forgot she needed to stick around for three o’clock. Dagmar was standing in queue for the floo departures when she remembered. It half-occurred to her it wouldn’t hurt to dash home and drop off everything she’d bought, but considering how slow the line moved, Dagmar didn’t think she would have time.

Someone was coming out of Florean Fortescue’s when Dagmar arrived, so she didn’t have to wrestle with the door on her own. Blaise was already there. He waved to get her attention, then came over.

“Busy afternoon?” He reached out to take the more awkward bags that Dagmar carried. If she wasn’t so utterly saddled, she would have declined the help.

“Busier than I thought it was going to be.” Dagmar resituated with her remaining bags. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Not a problem. Maybe we ought to pick a larger table?”

They picked a booth back in the corner, where Dagmar’s shopping bags wouldn’t be spilling out onto other people.

“Want me just to grab yours?” Blaise asked. “No sense in both of us standing in line.”

“I wouldn’t mind one less queue today.” Dagmar dug into her purse for a couple sickles. “Would you get me that one with banana and salted caramel?”

“Sure.”

Dagmar sat down, taking a moment after the final rush of getting here to relax. It felt weird to see Blaise again. She already felt rigid, uncertain about behaving in the casual way she’d grown comfortable being around Draco. Blaise was as pleasant as ever, but Dagmar could already tell that her hindsight about their relationship was correct. They’d never experienced that same spark that she and Draco had.

It didn’t matter how handsome Blaise was. Dagmar didn’t find him attractive the way she did Draco lately. There was more behind it. In a way, that made Dagmar feel bad. It said nothing at all about Blaise’s character. Dagmar braced herself to hear Blaise acknowledge today that they were probably better off. He certainly didn’t seem too upset about the entire thing. Dagmar just wished that her own ego would sod off, taking that as a loss when it should count as a mutual win.

Blaise’s brow furrowed in concentration not to spill anything when he returned with the two dishes filled to the brim with ice cream. Although Dagmar had worked up an appetite while shopping, she always felt that she needed to eat somewhat reservedly in front of Blaise. Candied banana medallions made it hard to resist tucking in.

“What’d _you_ get?” Dagmar asked.

“Cranberry caramel,” he answered. “I added candied almonds too. I thought it might go good in yours, but I wasn’t sure if you were a nut fan.”

“Either or.” Dagmar shrugged. She would’ve liked them for a crunch amongst the softer textures, but it was okay. The crispy bananas provided enough of a contrast. “Honestly, I’m just glad for something cool.”

“It’s definitely warm out today.”

After all the big conversations Dagmar had had with Draco the past few weeks, small-talk became slightly painful. It didn’t help that so much loomed over Dagmar and Blaise’s table that they needed to discuss.

“So. . .” Blaise said after they’d taken a few bites each of their sundaes. His dark eyes narrowed in contemplation. “This is it, huh?”

“Feels kind of weird, doesn’t it?” Dagmar pushed one of her banana medallions through some caramel that pooled at the bottom of her dish. Fist pressed into her cheek, she looked up at him. “All that, and nothing to show for it.”

“I was surprised, to be honest.” Blaise cleared his throat. “We got on all right, didn’t we?”

“I thought so,” Dagmar agreed. “I was quite happy to move ahead, but my parents had a different idea.”

Blaise’s brow trended toward a furrow, but he quickly recovered. “You didn’t have any say in it?”

“Sort of.” Dagmar shrugged. “I had to consent, but my parents set up the change.”

“Change?”

Dagmar’s spoon came to rest half-buried in a scoop of ice cream. “Ja, the change. They wanted me to go with someone else.”

It wasn’t often that Dagmar saw Blaise confused. His brow-line committed to the furrow, his lips parted as he studied Dagmar.

“You didn’t know about that?” Dagmar ventured.

“No,” Blaise replied. “All the letter my mum received from yours said was that you were withdrawing.”

“I didn’t know what my mum said,” Dagmar said. “She just told me that you knew the arrangement was off. It would’ve been nice if she’d told me just _how_ much you knew, so that I wouldn’t come to this conversation looking like a complete donkey.”

Blaise managed a smile.

“It makes me feel better that it wasn’t your decision,” he told her. “I’ve been wondering what I did that made you change your mind. I didn’t think it fair we didn’t at least discuss things if you just weren’t sure. I would’ve preferred you told me to my face rather than end things so impersonally.”

“That’s how I would’ve preferred it too, if that was something I was even considering.” Dagmar cut another banana in half with the edge of her spoon. “I started this summer thinking that everything was still on track. I didn’t expect anything to happen until next month. This got dropped on me quite suddenly.”

“I suppose you can guess what I’m going to ask next.”

Nerves fluttered to life in Dagmar’s stomach. She’d dreaded having to answer the tough questions, and to potentially receive similar hard answers. Even if she could acknowledge now that she and Blaise never really clicked in a romantic way, she didn’t want to hear him say the same thing.

“About why I consented to the change?” Dagmar asked.

Blaise nodded. His sundae sat forgotten before him.

Dagmar’s in turn gained her focus as she sought out not just a proper response to the question, but a diplomatic way to convey it. “I’m not sure we were ever. . .I mean, I do like you. Intellectually, we’re on the same level. We’ve never had an argument. You’re devilishly handsome—” she spared a smile when Blaise managed again at that, “but I never felt that we connected any deeper than that. I never felt that you, well, for lack of a better term, _wanted_ me. That kind of energy never really sparked between us.”

“No,” Blaise agreed after a moment of consideration. “I suppose you’re right.”

“It never bothered me before when I didn’t really think about it. You were all I knew, so I just thought of it as that we were just going at our own pace,” Dagmar said. “Maybe I was just passive? But then I didn’t feel exactly compelled to make the first move either toward that. It just didn’t feel right.”

Blaise raised his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I think our marriage would’ve had its rewards, but if either of us was going to be left wanting, then I understand why you would take an out if offered. I believe we could’ve figured things out in a way that would’ve met both our needs, but it’s okay.”

Regardless, Dagmar still felt bad. Her stomach grew too warm from it to handle her ice cream at the moment.

“We could’ve found a way to make it work were it still on the table,” Dagmar said. “One thing I keep coming back to is that as we’ve been, I don’t think it would be a platitude to say we couldn’t remain friendly going forward. I do value you as a person, and I’d be genuinely saddened if you weren’t a part of my life anymore.”

“In time, maybe.” Blaise nodded. “I did like what relationship we had while we had it. By the sounds of it, you don’t think what we had would be threatening to anything you might have now.”

“I thought we agreed those kinds of feelings weren’t really there?” Dagmar asked. “I certainly never got the impression, and I don’t see them in hindsight.”

Blaise thought about it for a moment. “It’s more the principle of the matter. Regardless of what we agree on, it still sucks to see you move on so easily.”

“What’s there to move on from?” Dagmar folded her hands together in her lap. “We didn’t have anything that could be called more than a friendship. That’s what we amounted to when we gave it a try, and were it not for the arrangement, I can’t see that we would’ve wound up married by our own design. I don’t think there’s an issue acknowledging that at the same time as that _had_ we married, we could’ve made it work. We can still be part of each other’s lives as we were. Where’s the problem with that?”

“I guess there isn’t one.”

“Clearly that’s not true.”

Dagmar had high hopes that, because she and Blaise were both rational people, this wouldn’t be the time they started having arguments. Dagmar truly believed that this would be the best for both of them. Maybe, despite their lack of romantic chemistry, Blaise didn’t agree. Maybe he wouldn’t want anything to do with her after this conversation. So he’d marry her all right, but he couldn’t be her friend unless they were tethered together in such a way?

“Would it be better if I just left?” Dagmar asked. “We could leave it alone for the summer, take some time to think, and see what happens?”

“Sure.”

Dagmar started gathering her things up, then. She would’ve at least liked to finish her sundae, but her appetite for anything was gone. Blaise’s seemed to be too, although he kept his gaze steadfastly on the slivered pieces of almond he pushed through the melted ice cream. When Dagmar looked back at him from the shop door, Blaise’s face had grown longer than it normally was.

It didn’t occur to Dagmar that she could actually hurt him with this. Maybe it was different for him because he wasn’t the one in control of the situation. It certainly couldn’t feel good that, after five years of committing to something, the rug had been pulled out from under his feet. Did Blaise really expect, given the lacking fire between them, that it would be enough for Dagmar to spurn her parents’ wishes and commit to him outside of the arrangement?

If he’d given her something— _anything—_ to believe they had the kind of chemistry worth fighting for, Dagmar would have. She’d considered it when Draco first dropped news of their potential arrangement. Things were different then, when Dagmar had only the barest of glimpses into her potential with Draco.

Dagmar still wasn’t even sure how she and Draco would’ve gotten along without something to work toward. She didn’t care for him much at all before that, and the feeling was mutual. Things were good now, but it was unsettling to her that they’d built this on such shaky foundation.

She wanted to say it didn’t matter, that so long as Draco kept trying to be a better person, the past was irrelevant. It wasn’t, though. Draco had the capability to be a very mean person. He’d shown a lot of potential in the last three weeks, but potential wasn’t the same as follow-through. That would take time.

Dagmar didn’t expect to come home feeling as bad as she did. She went straight up to her room and abandoned all her bags inside the door. She’d promised Draco to let him know how it went, but Dagmar didn’t feel particularly like talking to anyone right now.

It occurred to her around seven that, four hours after her meeting time with Blaise, Draco might start to worry. Dagmar half-heartedly headed down to the owlery. She’d forgotten that Ulysses was still there. He’d finally rested up from his last stint as Dagmar and Draco’s messenger.

“Take this home, will you?” she told Ulysses as she tied her short letter to his leg. She sent him off with a bite of fish from her dinner, which he happily gulped down before taking off.


	17. No Consolation

Since Draco didn’t take much time to end things with Pansy, he suspected he might hear from Dagmar before four o’clock. When that came and went, he revisited the idea and figured that since both Dagmar and Blaise were talkers, they might have taken the opportunity to hash everything out.

Five and then six o’clock passed. Draco started to feel on edge, since Florean Fortescue’s wasn’t open past five on Mondays. Six o’clock passing was more than enough time for Dagmar to have gotten home and sent him an owl.

What did it mean? Draco reread Dagmar’s letters from earlier that day, and while she wasn’t exactly looking forward to having that conversation with Blaise, she wasn’t particularly in a bad mood, as far as Draco could tell.

So what was taking so long? Did she still talk to Blaise? What did they even have to discuss beyond saying farewell? Did Blaise take the opportunity to try and get them back on track?

Draco tried his best not to fixate on that. Blaise was a proud person. He wouldn’t take well to being left the way he was, and even if he didn’t have a very deep relationship with Dagmar, he might still try to hold onto that. Did the delay mean that Dagmar might be entertaining the idea?

Draco and Dagmar hadn’t invested much time into their relationship, but the thought of it ending so soon still left Draco queasy. He’d promised to wait until Dagmar sent him an owl. As seven o’clock passed, he came close to breaking that. He was in the middle of writing a short letter when Ulysses landed on his balcony railing.

He untied the short note:

_Sorry for the late response. I don’t think it went so well. We’ll talk about it tomorrow?_

Draco couldn’t derive a whole lot from that. They were at least still on to see each other before Dagmar left for Nice.

He only wished she would elaborate more on what happened. Draco was ready to go by ten o’clock the next morning. The two hours until he was due to head over through the fireplace passed almost slower than the entire night.

Dagmar sat on a couch in her manor house’s great room when Draco arrived. She rose when she saw him. It was a tight smile, but she smiled nonetheless. Draco finally felt some relief from his nerves when Dagmar kissed his cheek on the way to coming in for a hug.

“Let’s go up to my room,” she said.

Draco had never been to the second floor of her place. He followed her through to the foyer and upstairs. She’d left one of the double doors leading into her room open, and closed it behind Draco. The bed hadn’t been made yet. The attached sitting room, separated from the bedroom by a step-up, looked like about the only part of the room she’d bothered with lately. Her desk was burdened down with two piles of parchment, one fresh and the other Draco was sure were his letters.

He took a seat on the couch she invited him toward with a gesture. It didn’t make him feel all that much better when she opted to sit in the chair against the other wall in the corner. She sat close enough to the window to catch the edge of the cross-breeze.

“Doing all right?” Draco asked.

Dagmar shrugged. “Feel like dragon dung, but other than that, I think I’m okay.”

“So what happened?”

“Not a whole lot. We talked, he got kinda mopey, I suggested I just leave because our conversation clearly wasn’t going to go anywhere.” Dagmar played with the drawstring on her cotton shorts. “I figured that since we never really had chemistry beyond what friends have that he would be interested in staying that way, but now I’m not so sure. I feel really bad. I hurt him, and now he might not want anything to do with me at all.”

“Does that mean he cared more than that about you after all, or. . .?”

This wasn’t good news for Draco either, who may have just lost one of his last two mates at school. The only one left from his year was Theo, and even that was iffy. Draco could only handle him in small doses.

“I don’t think so.” Dagmar sighed. “I don’t get it. Maybe I hurt his pride more than his feelings.”

“That’s possible.”

“I just don’t feel good about it. I thought he would understand.”

“He probably does,” Draco reassured her. “Just give him some time. It’s not like you went out of your way to hurt him, right?”

“No. Our relationship ended as passively as it began,” Dagmar said. “I told him there was absolutely nothing wrong with him personally, that we just didn’t have that spark, and I would be interested in carrying on as we did before. We just wouldn’t wind up married was the only difference.”

Draco could see how that would sting Blaise’s pride. What Dagmar offered made complete sense, but it was also an open acknowledgement that Dagmar never saw him as a potential for a romantic partner. Blaise would take a peripheral role in Dagmar’s life while she prioritized another man.

“I’d just give him some time,” Draco repeated.

“Ja.” Dagmar leaned her head back against the chair. “That’s what I was thinking. The whole point of seeing him before we headed back to Hogwarts was to make sure September wasn’t awkward. So much for that.”

“You did your best.” Draco shrugged. “It’s like when I told you about the change in arrangements. I had time to think it over and adjust, but you needed some too. Now _he_ does.”

Dagmar nodded, eyeing Draco with pressed lips.

“I think _I_ need time again, too,” she said. “You wouldn’t take that personally, right? It just hit me last night how much my life changed in the last month. It’s really overwhelming all of a sudden.”

Draco deflated inside. “How long?”

“Maybe just while I’m gone to Nice?” Dagmar replied. “We’ll be gone until the sixteenth or seventeenth.”

“So no contact or anything? Not even letters?”

“Hold on.”

Dagmar headed over to the sitting room. She came back with a bound notebook and dropped down beside Draco.

“I bought a pair of these in Diagon Alley yesterday,” she explained. “They’re messengers. You write something in one copy, and it appears instantaneously in the other. I thought they’d be handy while I was away so that we didn’t have to push our poor owls to their limit. Plus, no delays. And we could use them when we go back to school too.”

Draco flipped through the blank pages. “How do they work?”

“I’ll show you.”

This at least seemed to cheer Dagmar up. She headed back over to her desk and took a seat, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. It turned white in the sunshine. Draco stared, blinking when she looked back over at him.

“See, now look at your first page,” she said.

Draco opened the notebook again. He couldn’t help but smile at the little heart she’d drawn. Dagmar headed back over with her quill, ink well, and messenger in hand.

“I was playing with them a bit this morning,” she told him. “You can save messages, and the messages will stick around anyway until you dismiss them.” Dagmar drew a second heart in her notebook, which appeared in Draco’s after she underlined it. “That passes it along. Put a line through it to erase—” the first heart disappeared, “and circle to save.”

Dagmar showed Draco where it had been redirected to the bottom of the very last page.

“Brilliant,” Draco said. “Distance doesn’t affect it?”

“The ad didn’t say anything about that. They weren’t cheap, so it better not.” Dagmar chuckled. “We’ll find out when I get to Nice. Once I get settled in there, I’ll send you a test message. If you don’t hear from me by the end of the day, you’ll know it can’t reach that far. I’ll know too, if you don’t reply.”

“Right.” Draco hesitated to bring them back around to the conversation they’d been having. “This all depends too on how much contact you want.”

Dagmar’s carefree expression indeed flickered back toward the stress she’d shown when Draco first arrived. “I’ll probably be busy most of the day, going out and about. I definitely don’t want to go the entire three weeks without talking to you.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“I don’t know, we could aim for the evenings?”

Draco wished he didn’t feel annoyed by this. The last thing Dagmar probably needed after everything with Blaise was for Draco to get on her case too. Draco couldn’t just ignore that he was being shut out, though. Dagmar had to understand that. She’d gone quiet, running her fingers mindlessly over the edge of her messenger.

“I don’t really get what’s going on,” Draco said. “I don’t know you well enough yet to put in the guesswork, either. I’d appreciate it if you were a little more forthcoming than this.”

Dagmar shrugged. “I’m just feeling really overwhelmed by everything, and I want some time to think.”

“Think about what?”

“I don’t know, everything.” Dagmar threw a hand up in the air. “Like I said, everything just hit me last night. All of this is new, and ending things with Blaise made it real.”

“You mean us?” That was what Draco feared, and he didn’t like that it took so much work to drag an answer out. “You’re not rethinking it, are you?”

“Nei.” To Draco’s relief, Dagmar finally met his gaze. “It’s all just a lot at once. You and I are getting on way better than I ever thought we could, and that’s been overwhelming enough all on its own. It’s new to me. I’ve never experienced that, certainly not with Blaise, which should’ve been the ideal circumstance for it to happen. I _wanted_ it to happen with him for five years, and suddenly that’s gone. I have to say goodbye to that, to everything that we had planned, and it doesn’t really seem to matter that I’m just as excited about everything you and I have talked about. It’s just a weird place to be, and I have a lot of weird feelings because of it. This is real. We’re really doing this.”

Draco idly nodded, for he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. He hadn’t even done anything to make her feel like this, at least not directly. It didn’t leave him feeling too optimistic that he could do anything to fix it, either.

“I just need time to really absorb it,” Dagmar said. “It’s nothing against you, and it’s not like I’m thinking about going back on everything. We’ve had a good chance to see how this would work out between us, and for all I’ve felt and experienced in three weeks to amount to more than five years with someone else is just mental. I didn’t know it could be like this.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at Draco’s cheek as he studied her. “So it’s so good I’m scaring you off?”

“Nei.” Dagmar’s gaze darted off again, though, and she pursed her lips. “Well, maybe.”

How absolutely frazzled she was endeared Draco. He took her hand, not surprised it was clammy. Dagmar chuckled, embarrassed, and removed it long enough from his grasp so that she could wipe it on her shorts. She took the opportunity to shift closer to him on the couch.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she said. “I’m probably not making a lot of sense either, because my thoughts are everywhere. You get I’m not having doubts, right?”

“I think so.” Draco still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. “I don’t really want to be away from you at all, so I’m having a hard time imagining wanting space.”

“I was too until last night,” Dagmar replied. “I want some time to properly. . .well, mourn might be a strong word, but I don’t think I can focus as well on this when I’m still getting over everything with Blaise. Have you really had much of a chance to do that about Pansy?”

“Sort of.” Draco shrugged. “I have been since the beginning of summer. Haven’t you, ever since you found out?”

“Not really, I’m realizing.” Dagmar played with Draco’s fingers. “Doesn’t it feel different since you properly ended things?”

“Yeah,” Draco easily admitted. “Definitely like there’s no going back now.”

“Doesn’t that scare you a little?” Dagmar asked. “I mean, really _look_ at me, and think about who we were to each other a month ago. Was I anything at _all_ to you?”

Draco freshly studied Dagmar, from the way her wavy hair fell back over her shoulders, to the eyelash sitting on the side of her nose, to the faint freckles that showed up now that she’d gotten some sun this summer. She was hard to reconcile to that obscure girl that happened to share a dorm with Pansy. Draco never understood her, why she was even a Slytherin when she would probably fit better in any other Hogwarts house. She used to annoy Draco with the company she kept.

“I guess not really,” he said. “I didn’t get you at all. I didn’t have any reason to even try to.”

Rather than offended, Dagmar looked relieved that he could follow her line of thinking.

“Isn’t it just a little mental how quickly things can change?” she asked. “Do you _trust_ that change?”

“I’d like to think I do,” Draco replied.

“I’d like to think that too,” Dagmar said. “It’s all been well and good, but we don’t have time to back it up. We could stand to let things settle for a while, and then see how we feel. Right? I think it’s hard to tell what’s real when things are that sudden and intense. I was also in a weird headspace at the beginning of summer because of our manor being raided, and now that that’s over, I want a chance to feel for myself what’s going on.”

Draco tilted his head as he considered her. “Are you sure you’re not having doubts?”

“Not about the arrangement.”

“Still sounds like you have doubts about me, though.” Draco’s stomach sunk to have finally brought what Dagmar was trying to say out into the light.

“I don’t know.” Dagmar was having a hard time meeting his gaze again. “But that’s the thing, I want to be sure. I’ve really enjoyed this time with you. Something happened here that made it plain to me I was waiting for something from Blaise I was never going to get. This is what I want. It scares me a little how vulnerable that makes me with someone that was a near-stranger just a month ago.”

“Me too,” Draco said. “But I wouldn’t think space is the answer.”

“I have more reasons than just that to take a step back for a little while,” Dagmar replied. “If I wanted complete space, I wouldn’t have given you your messenger until I got back. I still want to talk to you.”

This conversation had gone in so many circles and taken so many leaps around that Draco was having a hard time keeping it all straight. Dagmar didn’t lie when she said that her thoughts were everywhere.

There was only one thing Draco could really say: “Okay.”

He couldn’t bring himself to squeeze back when Dagmar’s hand tightened on his. Looking at her grew difficult too, but at least she’d stopped talking.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Draco nodded.

She didn’t have anything to go off from that, so the bedroom fell into silence. Some parchment fluttered on Dagmar’s desk as the breeze coming through picked up.

“Maybe I’ll go home, then,” Draco said. “I think you’ve made your point, and I’d hate to impose.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’d rather.”

Dagmar stood up after him, tailing Draco toward her bedroom door. “I’ll at least show you to the fireplace—”

Draco stopped and turned in his step. Dagmar almost walked into him. “I know where it is.”

Through his annoyance and stinging pride, Draco still managed to feel bad when Dagmar’s eyes started to glisten. With it came exasperation.

“Why are you even upset?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you just spent the last half-hour telling me you want?”

“I don’t even really know what I want.”

“Believe me, you’ve made that right clear.”

Her lip quivered.

“Have your space,” Draco told her. “I wouldn’t mind some either at the moment, come to think.”

Draco couldn’t look back at her when he left the room. He wouldn’t be strong enough to walk away if he saw the hurt again in those big blue eyes. At this point, it was pretty much a matter of principle. Draco had his limits too, and if Dagmar didn’t know what she wanted, then Draco wouldn’t tolerate being yanked around like that. They’d promised to keep honest through all this. Dagmar wasn’t holding her end up on it. Was that really her fault, though? She came off as confused, but either didn’t or couldn’t explicitly say that was the problem.

Coming away from that, Draco could see the benefits of Dagmar taking space. She definitely needed to sort herself out. There remained a sting of fear in the back of Draco’s mind that Dagmar might decide she couldn’t do this after all.


	18. Distance

If Dagmar thought she felt bad before, it was nothing compared to now. She didn’t expect Draco to be happy with her train of thought, so if she was honest with herself, she didn’t know why she expected any other outcome to their conversation.

Draco deserved better than this, which Dagmar was trying to give him. Dagmar wished she’d just gone to Nice without making a big stink, but she’d wanted to be open with him. She just didn’t know her own mind well enough to convey it coherently. Hopefully, after three weeks, Dagmar would have her head back on right. She should have a solid idea of what she wanted going forward, and be comfortable leaving the past behind.

She missed Draco, though. The rest of Dagmar’s day felt empty without the anticipation of his next letter arriving. She still kept an eye on the window as she packed her bags for Nice. She doubted Draco would send her anything. He didn’t write in his messenger copy either. He’d gone silent, which—he was right. That’s what Dagmar had asked for. It’s also what she’d driven _him_ to want.

Dagmar was at least learning so far that she could tentatively trust Draco on follow-through for his promises. He promised to deal with Pansy as soon as they came home from Bergen. He did the same day. Draco promised not to push Dagmar’s boundaries as to what she was physically comfortable with. He hadn’t, even though Dagmar could tell he’d wanted to kiss her terribly leading up to when she’d finally taken the initiative. Now he promised to give her space and, regardless of his own interest in that, Dagmar believed Draco would’ve abided anyway.

Honourable wasn’t a word Dagmar thought she would ever use to describe Draco Malfoy. Maybe he wasn’t happy with her right now, but it was some consolation that Dagmar held his respect. She only hoped that still held on the other side of this crushing uncertainty.

Dagmar was definitely more concerned now about how things would go with Draco, than how things had gone with Blaise. Why _did_ Blaise care all of a sudden that they would no longer be married? Surely Dagmar was onto something with it being a knock at Blaise’s pride, as if the caliber of their relationship simply didn’t suit a marriage.

Did it, though? It had when Dagmar hadn’t known anything else would be possible. Given how vibrant and alive Dagmar felt with Draco, she wasn’t sure she could’ve settled into the type of marriage Blaise was apparently comfortable with. She wanted to be loved passionately, not comfortably, and Draco seemed more capable of that. He also proved more willing to receive it.

Still, Dagmar felt bad because she’d never made that known to Blaise. Had she, maybe things would’ve gone differently. Dagmar didn’t know back then what she wanted, was the thing. Her experience was too limited. Rather than Dagmar and Blaise sticking to the comfortable parts of their relationship, they should’ve tried harder to find out what they wanted in other regards. For all Dagmar knew now, Blaise was not only willing but _wanting_ to give her that.

Five years was a solid chunk of time to get to know somebody. Dagmar and Blaise just weren’t that close, and to try for more felt like they were forcing it. Dagmar had experienced something of a whirlwind with Draco for the last three weeks, and they hadn’t needed to force it at all. It just happened like that. So why didn’t it ever happen with Blaise? Shouldn’t this kind of passion have shown up by then?

It would’ve, if they had that kind of chemistry. It hadn’t mattered until the betrothal was over, because Dagmar didn’t even realize what she actually wanted until her scope of experience broadened. Surely, they would’ve eventually figured that out. What if Dagmar realized it after they were married, but Blaise couldn’t give it to her? How did something like that get negotiated between a husband and wife? If Blaise hated to hear at this point that Dagmar only saw him as a friend, how would he handle it when they were legally bound?

It was just for the best. On a rational level, Dagmar was glad they were able to go their separate ways now rather than later, if their differences turned out irreconcilable. Even worse, maybe they would stick it out in fear of change. They might decide it was better to be unsatisfied with each other, the only partner they’d ever been with, than to tempt the unknown.

When it came down to it, Dagmar wasn’t sure these bad feelings about Blaise came from an actual want for him, or even the question of what might have been. She just felt bad that she left him with nothing. She cared enough that she didn’t want to hurt him. If they could manage it, Dagmar certainly hoped he stayed in her life to some degree. Blaise was Draco’s mate, so maybe that would be possible. Or maybe it would be salt in the wound to see them together.

Dagmar’s mind ran in circles while she packed. When the sun had set and Dagmar crawled into bed, her thoughts kept on going. In a way, the day alone had been helpful, but for all Dagmar felt about her situation with Blaise, she felt all the worse for Draco. She doubted it was much stretch of the imagination that he laid awake too.

What little keenness Dagmar retained to go to Nice evaporated by morning. She went through the motions of packing her things downstairs, and waited in the great room for her parents. Just like with Draco, the three of them headed through London and Marseille to get to Nice. Where Dagmar and Draco had taken a lift to Place Masséna, she and her parents took one instead to the district of Fabron.

The lift came up into a back room somewhere. They were in an inn. Dagmar slowed as she looked around the foyer she followed her parents into.

“Come along,” her mum told her. “We aren’t staying here.”

Wherever they were in Nice, it didn’t seem too different from Place Masséna. The cobblestone walkway was familiar, as were the off-white buildings and clay roof tiles. Through gaps in the buildings, Dagmar saw a ten-foot fence that surrounded it. Everybody here seemed to be visiting from upper-class society.

“Are we close at all to Place Masséna?” Dagmar asked her mum.

“Place Masséna?” Her mum wrinkled her nose. “You mean that Muggle centre? It’s about three miles east.”

“Oh.”

That disappointed Dagmar. She’d liked that part of the city. How the Muggle and wizarding parts were so closely crammed together reminded her a little bit of Bergen. Because the only other time Dagmar came to Nice she came with Draco, it reminded her a bit of him too.

They carried on down the street until they came to a condo complex. Dagmar stayed out in the shade, sitting next to her dad on the steps. He rubbed her back.

“Why the long face?” he asked.

Dagmar shrugged. “Tired, I guess. I didn’t sleep the greatest last night.”

“Well, rest is what a holiday is for, isn’t it?”

“We definitely need it.” Dagmar stretched her back, sitting up straighter. “It’s hard to really rest in someone else’s home, and Draco and I didn’t lay around when we were in Bergen either.”

“He’s been all right then, has he?” Dagmar’s dad studied her, chin clasped. “Lucius said that he can have an attitude problem. He figures he’s corrected him of it for the most part.”

Dagmar suppressed a wince. “He hasn’t been disrespectful at all.”

Eyes crinkled, her dad rubbed her back again. “You always were more than capable of standing up for yourself.”

The condo office door opened behind them. Dagmar’s mum rejoined Dagmar and her dad, handing them each a key.

“Don’t lose it, now,” she told Dagmar. “I figured you’d want your own copy. You’d probably rather not tag along with your dad and I, huh?”

Dagmar indulged her humour with a smile to avoid agreeing too readily.

Her mum placed a hand briefly on Dagmar’s shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs, then. Two-twenty is ours.”

Dagmar yawned as her dad unlocked the door to their condo. She was quite content to pass straight through the dining area and into the bedroom she’d spotted.

She laid on the bed with her eyes closed and fingers folded over her stomach. This hardly felt like the holiday she wanted at all. Dagmar thought that once she got here, she’d be happy to have arrived. Her sense of still wanting to be at home only strengthened.

Dagmar’s parents’ voices carried in muffled fashion from their bedroom on the other side of the kitchen and dining room. Dagmar closed her door quietly, and opened her main bag. She’d placed her messenger on top along with her ink and quill. Carefully, since her room didn’t have a desk, Dagmar unstopped the ink and set it on her bedside table. She made sure none dripped from the quill as she brought it over to the messenger in her lap.

Even though she’d promised to reach out to Draco when she got here, Dagmar wasn’t sure where his head was at on everything. Draco might have even forgotten that they were going to make sure these messengers worked over distance. What Dagmar didn’t like was that if she received no response from Draco, she couldn’t entirely discern if that was because he hadn’t received her initial message, or he just ignored her.

_Did you get this?_ Dagmar wrote. She underlined it and watched the words fade into the page.

Her heart pounded slightly as she waited for a response, but none came in the few minutes she watched. That was all right. It could just mean that Draco wasn’t staring directly into his like Dagmar was at the moment. She set her quill in the inkwell and put her messenger aside. With the immediacy of reaching out off her mind, Dagmar decided to check out the condo more closely.

She wandered back out into the main living space. A small bathroom was beside her bedroom. The living room had a nice fireplace, although Dagmar suspected it wasn’t meant for travelling. Dagmar went into the kitchen. The ice box was empty—big surprise.

Dagmar headed toward the closed master bedroom to inform her parents she was going to go check out the market they’d walked past. Their voices had gone lower, though, and Dagmar knew better than to interrupt. She pulled a face and elected instead to leave a note on the dining table for whenever they emerged.

She grabbed a few staples like fresh bread, butter, fruits, and vegetables. The fruits had looked particular good, so when Dagmar returned, she plated a small helping each of the grapes, mango, peaches, and raspberries. She went into her room to check on her messenger again. Her heart skipped when she saw a single word had appeared in Draco’s small, cramped writing: _Yes._

Grape in mouth, Dagmar set her plate aside. She took up her quill, then paused before responding.

After how yesterday had gone, what would be a good thing to say? She’d already apologized. It wasn’t much of a stretch of the imagination on how Draco was doing, and he’d hardly had time to do anything in the meantime she could ask after.

She settled with: _Okay, that’s good. Thanks for letting me know._

It surprised her that another word appeared a moment later: _Yup._

Dagmar wanted to talk to him, but she just wasn’t sure what wouldn’t lead them right back into the discussion they’d left off with yesterday. If Draco wanted space, Dagmar also wanted to respect that.

While Dagmar debated it, Draco had written her again: _Maybe after yesterday we ought to take a couple days to ourselves so that things can settle. I’d like to talk about what happened but I’m still not very happy and I don’t think we’ll get anywhere like that._

Remorse tugged at Dagmar. She really _had_ irritated him for nothing. She missed him already. By the sounds of it, Draco didn’t miss her.

She wrote the only thing she really could: _Okay._


	19. A Pair of Misgivings

Air whipped through Draco’s hair as he kicked off from the manor house’s back terrace. His Firebolt quickly rose above the treetops, and the ground shrunk beneath him.

Flying was the only suitable distraction Draco had found during this lull between himself and Dagmar. It hardly cut it, though. While his hours spent in the air were still enjoyable, Draco couldn’t completely focus on it.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what had gone wrong with Dagmar. Draco was quite certain that had he done something in particular to instigate this, Dagmar would have told him. Up until now, she had always been really good at explaining what was going through her mind. The only thing that had changed between now and when things were fine was her meeting with Blaise.

Although it was difficult, Draco tried to trust that Dagmar knew what she needed. What she said made some kind of sense. Her life had changed drastically very suddenly. Draco’s had too, and he tried as hard as he could not to be hurt that it affected Dagmar more than him. He and Pansy were much more entwined than Dagmar and Blaise were, and Draco didn’t experience doubt like this at all.

Draco didn’t think Dagmar had played down her relationship with Blaise, either. They’d never come close to dating, as far as Draco could tell. Not until Dagmar told him she’d been originally arranged with Blaise did Draco so much as suspect it. He saw them as friendly in the same way Dagmar had described: as intellectuals. They were comfortable pairing up during lessons, and both did well academically, but that was it. Dagmar never had a reason to hide that from Draco.

He hoped to get some answers on Friday evening, when they had arranged to chat. As Friday morning dragged on, Draco wished they’d agreed upon an earlier time. By noon he’d already gone for a fly, and was otherwise ready to face the day. He grew quickly restless at home.

Draco left a note on the dining room table that he would be back home later. Spending the afternoon in Diagon Alley might cheer him up. It’d been in the back of his mind to get all his school shopping out of the way, and he’d wanted to drop in at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He made that his last stop so that he wouldn’t lose heart for the rest of his shopping, which had turned out predictably mind-numbing. The only distraction Draco had from it was imagining Dagmar’s relative keenness as she went through all these shops before him earlier in the week. Thinking about her even idly defeated the purpose of Draco coming to Diagon Alley in the first place.

Draco found the new cleaning kit he wanted, as well as an extra bottle of polish, and put them up on the counter. He headed down the aisles of bookshelves. Now that Draco had decided to rebuild the Slytherin team come September, he needed to start thinking how he would go about that.

He’d filled his arm with books and was in the process of skimming another one when the bell above the store’s door rang again. It happened so frequently while Draco was there that the sound of it barely registered.

What did, however, were two voices he was more than familiar with.

“. . .Still can’t believe Ginny lost it in the swamp. _Honestly_ , I’ve seen her throw better in a thunderstorm,” Ron Weasley was saying.

And of course, Potter was the one that laughed in reply. “I wouldn’t want to know what’s living in there that could crack it in two.”

“We’ve had that quaffle for ages. It’s been one good blow away from being replaced for as long as I’ve played with it.”

Draco refocused himself on the book he looked at. If there was one thing he could be certain of, it’s that neither of them would venture into the bookshelves. Due to all his boredom at home, Draco would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to pick some sort of fight.

After picking as many of the books as he cared to, Draco lingered while he waited for Potter and Weasley to move along. They didn’t. Their conversation moved on quickly from the quaffle they’d come to replace to Potter debating if he should buy a practice snitch, to Weasley wondering how many months of salary it would take to save up for a Chudley Cannons jersey once they started working next year, to which broom might finally one day come out capable of topping the Firebolt.

Draco eventually shook his head and rolled his eyes. He would probably just be able to sneak out while they debated the tenets of the Nimbus 2003, which had just been released in April. When Draco left the bookshelves, Potter and Weasley were at the other end of the shop with their backs to him.

The attendant came back up to the desk. “Found everything you were looking for, Mr. Malfoy?”

He had a loud, carrying voice. Because the attendant looked directly at Draco, he suppressed an annoyed grimace. Potter and Weasley had lowered their voices. They’d realized who they shared the shop with.

“Yes,” Draco answered. He had his money at the ready for when the attendant could give him his total. Handing it over quickly didn’t matter, because it still took a painful amount of time for his purchases to be bagged.

While the attendant struggled with his books, Draco couldn’t resist looking back over his shoulder anymore. Sure enough, Potter and Weasley’s moods had shifted to their usual jolliness in Draco’s presence. It pleased Draco in a way that, despite not having said a word, he still held some power over them.

Draco nodded at the attendant as thanks. He adjusted his bags and headed for the shop door. He could feel eyes on him and, sure enough, Potter and Weasley looked back with long faces and braced shoulders. Potter’s eyes narrowed when his and Draco’s gazes met. Draco pursed his lips to avoid smirking before pushing his way through the door and back out into the street.

Dagmar would be proud.

In a way, that was more exciting than picking a fight. No doubt Potter and Weasley would be left thinking about it all day and maybe even longer, trying to figure out what Draco might be up to. Potter and Weasley were the type of dunderheads that might just waste the rest of the summer on it.

Good. It would leave them off-balance when the Quidditch season started.

Everything Draco bought other than his stuff from Quality Quidditch Supplies was abandoned just inside his bedroom door. He tried out his new cleaning kit on his Firebolt, then spent the rest of the afternoon reading Darren O’Hare’s autobiography. The Kestrels were far from Draco’s favourite team, but he could still acknowledge that O’Hare had contributed some decent strategies to the Quidditch world. The Irish national team endorsed those tactics. If players that would otherwise oppose the Kestrels could suck it up, so could Draco.

An empty, rumbling stomach distracted Draco from his reading close to dinner time. To his surprise, it was less than an hour until when he’d agreed to be ready for a conversation via messenger with Dagmar.

Draco set his book aside dog-eared close to seven o’clock. His room had grown warm throughout the day, and now the evening had nicely cooled off. Draco took his messenger outside onto the balcony and set up his inkwell on the table beside his favourite lounge chair.

 _I’m here whenever you are_ , he wrote.

Distracting himself all day with thoughts of Quidditch had spared Draco of the nerves that suddenly sparked to life in his stomach. Because he and Dagmar hadn’t properly spoken in a couple days, he had no idea where she was on everything.

 _I’m here_ , appeared in familiar writing.

Draco dipped his quill. Its tip quivered slightly as he held it over the page, thinking how best to start this. _How are you doing?_

She surely had to know what that meant. Draco watched the page, then leaned his head back against the chair when, after a few minutes, nothing yet had appeared. This was pure agony to see where their conversation started from.

Finally, her response came. It was much shorter than Draco expected for the time it took: _Feeling quite silly, honestly._

 _Why’s that?_ Draco wrote back.

_I wasn’t having a good day, when I look back. I shouldn’t have let how overwhelmed I was affect you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since this whole thing started. I’ve at least had time now to get past my emotions about it all and start sorting things out. I’m really sorry about Tuesday._

_Thanks_ , Draco started his response with. He heartened a bit, since this at least seemed like they moved back in a positive direction. Draco felt again all of a sudden just how much he’d missed not talking to her. _Mind clarifying then where we stand?_

It took a while again for her to reply: _I wish we could’ve had this conversation face to face, just because it’s really hard to tell where your head is at without seeing you. I feel silly that I upended everything. I don’t doubt things with you, I’ll just write that bluntly so you can stop wondering. I think it’s tied in to everything about Blaise. I was so sure about him too, until I wasn’t. I was scared it might mean that anything like that, or like this, could just switch off all of a sudden. It’s different this time, though. Blaise and I were never natural like you and I are. So many things felt forced with him in hindsight._

A thought occurred to Draco as well. _When things like our arrangements change so fast nothing really feels permanent._

_Yes, exactly. I think we’ve talked about it before, what would happen if our parents changed their mind again?_

The conversation existed somewhere in Draco’s memory, although he couldn’t pull specifics at the moment. The important thing was that they wouldn’t let this end on anything but their own terms. _We have._

 _What about you?_ Dagmar replied nearly right away. _Where do you stand on everything?_

The end of Draco’s quill ended up between his lips as he thought. He was relieved now, and he couldn’t really say that he’d stayed angry long after leaving Ramstad Manor on Tuesday. A quiet ache had quickly taken over, easily summed up.

 _I miss you_ , he wrote.

Another lengthy pause from Dagmar incited Draco to worry. It melted away, leaving a small smile, when more words appeared on the page: _I miss you too._

 _So what have you been up to?_ Draco replied. _How’s Nice?_

Dagmar’s writing grew messier now, from the speed of her reply. Draco had expected a succinct summary of a museum visit, which would have suited her excitement, but instead Dagmar seemed to have finally found it in her to relax. She’d spent most of the time so far on the beach, which was only a quarter-mile walk from where her family stayed.

_. . .I won’t lie, it’s been nice to have some time to myself. Don’t get that much often at school, and things are always so weird with my parents. They certainly aren’t doing anything to help that so far. I suspect they keep carrying on as they are I might be coming home with a sibling on the way._

Draco laughed to himself. _Been there. It’s horrendous, isn’t it?_

_At least if that happens, it might give me about a decade-long breather for when they start asking when we’re having any kids. They might be so busy with their own until it’s off to school they don’t notice we haven’t bothered._

_If my parents ask after it, I plan on asking them why they only had one if kids are so great,_ Draco replied.

_That’s a good one. I might steal it. We’ll see what happens if by Christmas I’m not hearing I’ll be an older sister._

The time extended into the late evening. Ulysses hooted in protection of his favourite elm tree, which meant he’d finished hunting for the night. Draco remembered suddenly that it was an hour later in Nice than it was here. He would have thought Dagmar was still adjusted to the local time if her personality hadn’t cooled on how strongly it came through her writing.

 _Are you tired?_ Draco asked.

_Getting there. You wouldn’t think that laying in the sun all day would be so exhausting. You? Is that why you ask?_

_Starting to. I don’t really want to stop talking._

_Me neither_ , Dagmar wrote back. _Let’s call it for the night. Same time tomorrow?_

_Looking forward to it._


	20. An Encounter with Muggles

Throughout Dagmar’s days in Nice, a new guilt rose in her. She spent the hours with sunlight busy, and the hours without it dedicated to talking to Draco. The school books she’d brought hadn’t been touched yet at all. They still laid in a stack at the bottom of one of her bags.

The feeling of having remembered something she was supposed to do visited Dagmar every night before sleep. However, it seemed like it just never occurred at any other hour of the day. There were too many other things that Dagmar couldn’t do once she returned home or to Hogwarts. There were no museums there. She likely wouldn’t ever have this kind of time with her parents again. She certainly wouldn’t find a beach like Nice’s to lay on back in Britain.

Come the tenth of August, while out shopping together, Dagmar’s mum had dropped a few hints that she and Dagmar’s dad intended on having a romantic night together. Dagmar took that for exactly what it likely meant, and planned to spend her own evening out of the condo. In the afternoon while her mum had a kip and her dad read in the living room, Dagmar slipped her messenger into her purse and headed out.

She walked the quarter-mile south to the Promenade des Anglais, and then turned east. Dagmar had made it a quick habit to send Draco a little something every few days via owl delivery. The first time she’d sent anything (some balistique bonbons from the same sweet shop they’d visited during their day-trip), the surprise and thoughtfulness of it seemed to make a deep impression with Draco.

Dagmar got a bigger thrill out of sending Draco Muggle knick-knacks. She’d sent him a keychain one time, another time a hand-made mug (with a fresh pêche de vigne tucked inside), and most recently the kitschiest piece of street art she could possibly find. It consisted of a wall-eyed French bulldog with garish flowers around its neck. She’d forewarned Draco that she meant it as a gag gift, and he confirmed upon receiving it that it was _‘positively ghastly’_. He said he liked it anyway, that it had some weird sort of charm.

Dagmar combed through the Muggle souvenir shops for another decent find. She decided upon a postcard with a picture of the beach on it. After she paid for it, the lady working the counter asked if Dagmar wanted to borrow a pen. Dagmar’s initial reaction was to decline, since she’d brought quills and ink, but with a second thought she accepted the writing utensil.

Hardly suppressing a grin, she wrote:

_I wrote this message with a Muggle pen. Isn’t that mad?_

_Yours,   
_ _Dagmar_

The irony of the message being otherwise pointless to have written shouldn’t be lost on Draco. She slipped the postcard into her purse to send off once she’d made it to the wizarding post office she’d been borrowing owls from. To give the day’s parcel some extra heft, she stopped in at a Muggle confectionary shop to pick up more of a particular chocolate truffle Draco liked. Dagmar had picked them once before for their green sprinkle coating, unaware that it had almond slivers and nougat inside until Draco mentioned how good they were.

She didn’t bother getting any other kind this time. The confectioner boxed them up for her so that they would be protected during flight (Dagmar didn’t specify it was an owl that would be flying them), and then Dagmar headed off for the post office.

While digging in her purse for her postcard, Dagmar paused when a pen appeared amongst her things. She pulled it out as well and added to the postcard:

_Ps. I apparently stole the pen so have that too._

Dagmar added it to the care package, paid for a carrier, and then boxed it all together for transport. She headed to a Muggle café next. While standing in the long queue, Dagmar pulled out her messenger. It was then, as she considered her quill and ink, that she realized she could’ve used that pen again to write a quick heads up to Draco.

A pen appeared in Dagmar’s peripheral vision. She lifted her gaze to see a young man either in his late teens or early twenties holding it out to her.

He smiled. “It’s what you’re looking for, non?”

“Ah, oui,” Dagmar replied when she’d parsed out the French he spoke. “Thanks.”

He kept talking as Dagmar opened her messenger across her right forearm. She wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the French even if she hadn’t been trying to concentrate on what she wrote to Draco. She felt awkward when he finally stopped. The upward lilt at the end of his sentence indicated that he’d asked her a question.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I don’t speak a lot of French.”

The man tilted his head, studying her with dark brown eyes. “English?”

Hesitantly, for Dagmar didn’t even know what his preoccupation was while she literally just borrowed something to write with, she nodded.

“You must be a tourist,” he spoke English with the usual soft, sing-song accent that Dagmar grew accustomed to hearing in Southern France. “Where are you from?”

“Britain.” Dagmar dashed a few words down in her messenger for Draco.

“My name is Marc.” He held out his hand. “What’s yours?”

Unsure what else to do that might dissuade him, since Dagmar wasn’t interested in the telltale glint to his eye, she set the pen back in Marc’s hand.

“Thanks again,” she said.

The smile slid off his face. To avoid having to make eye contact, Dagmar busied herself putting her messenger away. Guilt poked at her as Marc turned back around to face the front of the queue. He’d been kind enough, but she had a sense about what he might be after. There was no point letting him get that kind of idea when his efforts could never go anywhere.

Dagmar felt better when Marc had finally ordered his coffee and moved over to the pick-up area. She stepped up to the counter and recited a phrase in French she’d perfected over the past few weeks: “May I have a black coffee, please?”

“Voulez-vous quelque chose plus cher?”

“Er—pardon?”

It wasn’t a question Dagmar had ever been asked before in a café. She parsed it over when the barista repeated herself, but Dagmar still frowned out of confusion. Why would she be asked to order something more expensive?

The barista pointed over at Marc. “Le monsieur a payé votre boisson.”

It took a repeat again for Dagmar to comprehend. Her cheeks grew warm out of discomfort. Marc looked at her, leaning against the counter when Dagmar glanced out the corner of her eye.

“Just the black coffee, please,” she told the barista.

Dagmar had no choice but to migrate over to where Marc stood while she waited for her drink.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said to break the awkward, heavy silence.

“You British girls are hard to crack.”

“I didn’t want to waste your time,” Dagmar replied. “I’m not interested.”

Another barista handed Marc his coffee in a plastic cup. He held it up to Dagmar. “Cheers, anyway. While you enjoy your coffee, just think of it as some local hospitality.”

Dagmar managed a tight smile before Marc left. Regardless of what he said, his insistence had left her uncomfortable. She tried to shake it off now that he was gone.

She forgot about him for a moment when she found a place to sit down in the wizarding shopping alley. Out of habit, she checked her messenger.

 _The ones with the green sprinkles?_ Draco had written in response to her original message about truffles.

Dagmar brought out her ink and quill. _I sent a couple dozen. Enjoy._

_They won’t make it to lunch tomorrow._

She smiled genuinely now as she dipped her quill again. The tip of it came to a halt above the page as Dagmar hesitated to recount what had just happened. No benefit came from telling Draco. At best, he might get weirdly jealous and wonder why Dagmar would even mention it. At worst, he might agree with Dagmar that Marc’s insistence was weird, and then he might worry needlessly about her.

Dagmar ended up staying in the wizarding district for the rest of the afternoon. She had dinner alone at the nicest restaurant she was dressed for, and then found another café, this one witch-run, to occupy for the evening. Since coffee after dinner was a local cultural custom, the place was quite busy. All of it faded away as Dagmar checked her messenger for anything from Draco. He’d written again.

 _Tell me about your day whenever you’re ready_ , the page read. _I’m just bumming around reading up more of the books I bought so I’ll have my messenger with me._

Dagmar dipped her quill. _These books you’re reading, would they be of a more school or Quidditch variety?_

Draco’s writing appeared again shortly after. _Before I answer that, tell me. Have YOU opened your books yet?_

He had her there. _Touché._

_I figure so long as the more disciplined one between us hasn’t, I’m doing all right. Besides, I’m studying, just for other things._

_What have you learned today, then?_

Whenever asked about Quidditch, Draco tended to take a long time to reply so that he could fit everything he wanted to say on the page. Over time, he and Dagmar had both expressed a preference for shorter replies so that there wasn’t such a delay in their conversation. Dagmar also felt more engaged with Draco that way. When he broke up what he’d learned, she was free to ask him for clarification on something or for more details. It helped Draco too, he had said, for sometimes the things he was trying to tell her about were only half-understood by him. By slowing him down and then forcing himself to think harder on it, Draco got more out of everything he’d been reading for the past few weeks.

Dagmar still had no interest to ever play Quidditch, but she enjoyed this aspect of it. She attributed that to Draco’s passion, for she not only wanted to encourage him (he didn’t need it), but his excitement was contagious. Endearment toward him swelled in Dagmar’s chest as his writing grew increasingly messy and his thoughts more scattered. She could just imagine him on his balcony at Malfoy Manor, face screwed up in the same kind of concentration as when he was writing an exam.

 _Anyway, that’s probably enough about that_ , he summed it all up with. _Before I forget again, there was something I wanted to ask you about your birthday._

 _What is it?_ Dagmar wrote back.

_I’ve been thinking about what would make a good gift. I have an idea but it’s not really something I can just surprise you with. Plus you might have one, but I’m not sure because I haven’t seen it lately. . .did something happen to your cat?_

Dagmar’s smile faded. She felt nauseous to think about it.

 _He wandered off into the Forbidden Forest,_ she wrote. _He was old. Almost as old as us._

_Sorry to bring it up. I just realized last week I never saw your cat when we came home for the summer. Is it too soon yet for another?_

_I haven’t really thought about it_ , Dagmar replied. _I think if I went back to Hogwarts without an animal I would really feel Grim’s absence. I sure have since March._

_He was a big cat, that one. I saw him get into a fight once with another while I was at a CMC lesson. There was fur flying everywhere but your cat didn’t look too hard off._

_He had so much fur I doubt any claws could’ve gotten through it._ Dagmar managed to smile again out of remembrance. She’d never known Grim as a fighter, except to protect what he perceived as his territory. As one of the oldest cats at Hogwarts who had also been there a long time, he probably had a lot of it where the hunting was best.

 _Is that a yes, then?_ Draco asked. _If it is, any preferences? Colour, etc._

 _No colour preference, but I do prefer males. They’re cuddlier._ Dagmar paused before continuing to write, _I also like that particular breed, but they aren’t really the type of cat you can just buy from the Menagerie in Diagon Alley. They’re expensive. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you spending that much money on me._

 _How expensive are we talking?_ Draco replied.

_At least twenty galleons._

_That’s it?_

Dagmar pushed her lips off to one side. Money certainly wasn’t a problem for either of them. If they were both planning on working once they finished at Hogwarts, and at well-paying jobs at that, then they probably wouldn’t have much need for their families’ wealth. Dagmar planned that as an adult she would separate herself as much as possible from outside control. If she had her own money, for instance, her parents couldn’t attach conditions to what she might receive from them.

 _Maybe when I get back we should sit down together and figure out how exactly we’re going to handle our finances,_ Dagmar wrote instead of answering the question. _It’s unrealistic that we’ll never spend money on each other for things like birthdays or Christmas, but I’d rather we didn’t go crazy._

_The galleon amount isn’t what’s important to me. If you want a specific kind of animal and it would make you happy, then it’s worth it. Besides, how long does one of those cats live for? How much per year does the cat cost if you break it down like that?_

Draco made a good point. Grim had lived for fifteen years, the average for Norwegian forest cats.

_I guess._

_Is that a yes?_ Draco wrote again when Dagmar paused long enough: _Would it make you feel better if we each went in half on it, then? If we’re going to be living together in a year, I guess the cat will technically be both of ours._

 _That’s true,_ Dagmar replied. _Okay, I’m good with that._

_Minus from your end what I owe you for my messenger._

Dagmar chuckled. _You prat._

_It’s something we equally benefit from that we both own. Makes as much sense that we each pay equal amounts for it._

_Fine. We’ll figure that out when we square up for the cat._

_So what kind of cat was Grim, and where would I get one?_

The longer Dagmar and Draco talked, the more Dagmar realized she grew tired. She didn’t want the conversation to end, and it would have to if she packed up to head back to the condo. Her head snapped up when one of the baristas approached her table.

“We’re closing soon,” he told Dagmar.

“Oh,” Dagmar replied. “What time is it?”

Dagmar’s stomach dropped to hear it was coming up on ten o’clock. She thanked the barista for a heads up, and wrote one more quick message to Draco: _I’ll talk to you again tomorrow. Sleep well._

It was better Draco not know that Dagmar was three miles away from her condo at such a late hour, and alone. She bagged her messenger and headed out. Going along the Promenade would lengthen her journey, but it was probably also the safest route. Dagmar hadn’t bought anything expensive today. If she happened to be mugged, the most valuable thing she would lose was her messenger.

She meant it as a light thought, but nerves started to set in as Dagmar reached the Promenade. It was at least still busy and well-lit.

Her shoulders relaxed some as she passed Boulevard Gambetta, the halfway point back to where she’d head away from the beach to the condo. Dagmar started to dread what her parents might say if they were still awake, waiting for her to come back. She’d never stayed out this late, and she hadn’t specified when she would return. The best Dagmar could do at this point was apologize and then ensure it never happened again. They were only in Nice for another week now. Dagmar would just settle back in at the condo each night before getting involved in a conversation with Draco.

Dagmar’s mind ground to a halt, her feet almost with it, when a familiar face appeared ahead coming toward her. Marc still wore the same backwards red cap, his curly hair poking out from underneath. Dagmar took a hard right, trying to get away from him and the loud, inebriated crowd he was part of. They were pretty absorbed with themselves, so Dagmar felt confident she’d managed to avoid notice. However, that dissolved immediately when she looked back over her shoulder and made eye-contact with Marc.

Because he’d left her alone earlier after she expressed her disinterest, Dagmar figured he had enough respect for her wishes that he would just carry on. Her throat tightened when, a little further down the Promenade, she glanced back over her shoulder to see him and a few of his mates. They now headed the same way Dagmar did.

She quickened her step, blindly feeling around her purse. Maybe there was a chance she had brought her wand, despite never packing it anywhere. She hadn’t.

Dagmar got ahead a little bit until it came time to cross the street. She reached the pedestrian crosswalk right when the red hand popped up opposite her. Marc and his mates had nearly caught up when it changed. They were able to cross the street as well.

That confirmed for Dagmar that they were following her. Would it look strange if she just broke into a run? Although the street was still just as well-lit, there weren’t as many people around. Dagmar could hear them, their voices just low enough to be beyond her comprehension. Every time they laughed, nausea tickled the back of Dagmar’s throat. This couldn’t be happening to her right now.

She stepped off the sidewalk in the dim light between two lamp posts, and skirted across a building’s lawn toward some walled stone steps. She climbed a few before promptly sitting down. Staying as still as she could, Dagmar listened. Their laughter and talking had stopped.

Something rustled, and then someone leapt in front of her. “Boo!”

Dagmar screamed in surprise while a chorus of laughter returned around her. She jumped up. Marc himself leaned over the bottom of the stone wall where it started to incline with the stairs. Dagmar pleaded him silently with her eyes to make this end, now that they’d gotten the reaction they wanted. Dagmar’s heart rapped painfully against the inside of her ribcage.

“What’re you scared for?” Marc’s mate asked in heavily-accented English. “You know this boy here, do you not?”

Whether Marc was just clueless or too drunk to read Dagmar any better than he did while sober, he merely looked sheepish about the whole thing. It went over his head that the three of them had cornered an underaged foreign girl in a dark, lonely part of the city.

“I don’t.” Dagmar’s voice trembled. “You need to leave me alone and quit following me. You’re scaring me.”

Dagmar turned and started up the stairs. Marc’s mate took the stairs after her two at a time.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said. A hand closed around her wrist. “Just what’s the problem? We only wanted to see if you’d come with us to the next club. Our other friends are waiting there for us—”

“Let go of me.” Dagmar pulled, but his grip only tightened.

“You won’t even think about it.” His tone was accusatory, annoyed.

“Nei. Leave me alone.”

Irritation reared in Dagmar too. Her upper lip curled as she swung an open palm at Marc’s mate holding her in place. Before Dagmar’s hand connected, red sparks emitted from her fingers. The Stunning Spell went broad without her wand to focus it, but it was still strong enough for the grip on her wrist to loosen. Marc’s mate tumbled down the steps. While Marc and the third one dumbly watched him, Dagmar bolted as fast as she could.

“Qu’a-t-elle fait?” Marc said.

“Saisissez cette connasse,” his other mate replied.

Dagmar had reached the top of the steps when Marc took a step over his stunned mate’s sprawled body. Angry anew, Dagmar grew tired of running. If this was the game they wanted to play, then she would stand her ground. She could do it with or without a wand.

She turned to face Marc, and dropped her purse. He slowed with her stop, breathing harder than what running up those stairs called for.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded. “His head is bleeding.”

“Good,” Dagmar said. “He deserved it.”

Marc advanced toward her again. “Just what is wrong with you? Can’t take a bit of fun? It’s not like any of us are going to hurt you.”

Dagmar focused on her left hand. A prickle of pain caused her nerves to twitch. The spell felt heavy as her muscles tensed as well. Circles of lightning started at the tips of her fingers and ran down over her forearm in attempt to find a conduit.

“ _I’ll_ hurt _you_ ,” Dagmar ground out.

She couldn’t hold onto it anymore. Like throwing a ball, she flung it at Marc. His eyes were wide, and then he disappeared behind something that made a loud crack.

“ _Protego!_ ”

Lightning dissipated in every direction, crackling and crawling through the air. Dagmar cradled her arm against her chest. Wincing, she bent to pick up her purse with her right hand. Just as she touched it, another loud crack sounded beside her. Something tight closed around her upper arm. A second later, the sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube pulled her away from where she’d been standing.


	21. The French Ministry

Dagmar gasped for air when the sensation of apparating finally passed. She resisted against the large hand that squeezed her upper arm, but it was about as much good as it’d been against the Muggle she’d stunned.

“Arrêtez,” the man told her in an authoritative tone. “J’appartiens au Ministère de la Magie.”

Dagmar understood at least enough of that to start calming down. She took a better look around her. She’d arrived in an open office divided up into cubicles. Other officially-dressed witches and wizards looked on at her in idle interest.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar shakily managed. “I’m British. I don’t speak much French.”

“I speak English,” the man holding her in place drawled. “Now, if I let you go, are you going to behave?”

“Ja.” Dagmar’s voice shrunk further as the adrenaline bled out of her.

“Good.” He released her. “Follow me.”

Dagmar’s legs had turned to leaden jelly underneath her. She trembled, clutching her purse for something to hold onto as the agent led her to the back. He held a door open for her, which led into an office.

“My name is Ovide Bethencourt,” he introduced himself. “I’m an agent of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Take a seat.”

Dagmar gravitated toward the chair in front of Bethencourt’s desk, but didn’t sit down. “I’m seventeen in less than five days.”

“We’ll discuss the matter.” Bethencourt shut the door and headed for his own chair. Since he didn’t seem particularly angry or even bothered, Dagmar grew less nervous that she might actually be in trouble. She sat down.

Bethencourt rifled around in his desk. He pulled out a form, then opened a well-used inkwell.

“Full name?” he asked.

“Dagmar Aslaug Ramstad.”

“Birthdate?”

“August 15th, 1980.”

Bethencourt grunted under his breath. “Regardless of how close you are to your birthday, you need a guardian here on your behalf. Who would that be, and how can they be contacted?”

Dagmar’s stomach dropped. “Do my parents really have to come?”

“Standard procedure. Are they in Nice, or elsewhere?”

“Nice.” Dagmar’s spine slumped. “At the condos in the little wizarding village in Fabron. Unit two-twenty.”

“I’ll have them alerted. Excuse me.”

Bethencourt left the office. Dagmar slouched over the desk, the butt of her palm digging into her cheek. She was suddenly exhausted. If she had only made it back to the condo, she would’ve probably been asleep in her bed by now. This night took a turn she hadn’t expected in the least.

Dagmar glanced over her shoulder to see if Bethencourt paid any mind toward her. Should she let Draco know what had happened? Or would that only lead to more questions and more of a kerfuffle than necessary? Her parents were already going to be enough to deal with tonight. Draco was probably asleep, anyway.

On his way back to the office, Bethencourt was pulled aside by a woman. They chatted with their heads together, the woman glancing around frequently.

The office door opened again. Bethencourt had returned, the woman tailing him. She studied Dagmar with eyes narrowed out of intrigue, her mouth small when set in such a strong jaw.

“This is Elodie Marigot,” Bethencourt introduced her. “She’s an Auror.”

Dagmar gave her a small nod.

“Someone has been sent to inform your parents of the situation,” Bethencourt told Dagmar. “I doubt they’ll be long.”

“Okay,” Dagmar replied.

“Mind telling us what happened?”

Dagmar’s fatigue came over her again like a wave. She rubbed her eye with her left hand, wincing. It still hurt from handling the curse.

“I was being followed back to my condo by three Muggle men,” she said. “I tried to outrun them. I tried to hide. I tried to ask them to leave me alone, I tried telling them to. Nothing worked, and when I tried to just walk away, one grabbed me. I stunned him.”

“We apprehended the three Muggles in question, and will interrogate them to corroborate your story,” Bethencourt told her.

Dagmar glumly nodded.

Marigot spoke up beside Bethencourt. “May I see your left hand, Ms. Ramstad?”

Dagmar held it out palm-up, but Marigot shook her head as she moved around the desk.

“The backside, please,” she specified.

Dagmar turned it over and was surprised to see faint, red branching patterns running from the bases of her fingers to where they faded away halfway up her forearm. Marigot held Dagmar’s hand and elbow gently as she inspected them with a thoughtful hum.

“Interesting bit of magic you performed tonight,” Marigot said. “Tell me, where did you learn that curse? The lightning one, which you failed to mention in your recount.”

“I think I read about it in a book.” Dagmar paused. “What about it?”

“Very dangerous, that one. Listed as Dark Class 2 in most of mainland Europe. Were you aware of that?”

Dagmar shook her head. 

“Must have been some book you were reading.”

When Marigot was done looking, Dagmar laid her left arm across her lap and hid it underneath her right one. Her spine slouched forward. 

“I don’t understand,” Dagmar said. “Am I in trouble?”

“We’ll discuss that when your parents get here.”

All Dagmar could do was nod in acceptance of it. She’d been so angry and scared that she didn’t consider what curse she used on Marc. After being harassed by him and his mates, Dagmar had just had enough. Admittedly, she knew that curse was much more harmful than a simple Stunning Spell. That had been the point of using it. Looking back at it now, feeling more like herself and less like a scared, cornered animal, Dagmar grew nauseous with remorse. What kind of trouble could she possibly be in? Someone had blocked it, hadn’t they? It never hit Marc.

Sitting in Bethencourt’s office while Marigot continued to study Dagmar in the silence lengthened the minutes. Bethencourt tried to pass them by filling out the rest of his report sheet, but other than Dagmar’s place of birth and residence, there wasn’t much other information to provide.

“Ah,” Bethencourt said, perking up. “Those must be them?”

Dagmar looked back into the main office. Indeed, her parents stood near where she had first arrived. They both looked as tired as Dagmar felt, but they at least had fury to keep them going. Dagmar’s dad’s face was set in a scowl, and Dagmar’s mum’s cheeks flushed the same way Dagmar’s did when she was extremely upset. Dagmar commended Bethencourt for his bravery when he went out to greet them.

Her parents’ robes billowed out behind them as they marched behind Bethencourt into the office. When Dagmar tried to smile, she found her face frozen. 

“Just _what_ is going on?” Dagmar’s mum demanded before Bethencourt had a chance to close the door. “Is this where you’ve been all evening, Dagmar? Your dad and I were worried when you didn’t come back before dark. Now imagine how we felt when there’s a knock on the door and Ministry members are standing there. You could’ve been dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Being tired didn’t help Dagmar’s mood. To be yelled at after everything else today brought tears up into her eyes. 

“Well?” Dagmar’s mum looked at Bethencourt. “What did she do?”

Bethencourt remained nonplussed through it all. Undoubtedly, this wasn’t the first angry parent he’d ever dealt with. Dagmar’s mum probably wasn’t even the only one today. She might yet not even be the last. 

“Your daughter was the victim, in this particular case,” he told her. “Three Muggle men were following her back toward your condo. Dagmar used magic as a defensive measure, hence why we’re all here.” 

The anger bled visibly from Dagmar’s mum. Pale concern replaced her red cheeks, and her eyes widened. 

“Oh, jenta mi,” she said to Dagmar. “I’m sorry. They didn’t tell us anything.”

Dagmar just shrugged. She felt marginally better to at least have someone in her corner. A motherly hand squeezing her shoulder was comforting. 

“So what _are_ we here for, then?” her mum asked Bethencourt. “If Dagmar was within her rights to use magic, are we able to take her back to Nice? She must be exhausted after all that.” 

“We’re just confirming the story now,” Bethencourt said. “The Muggles in question are being interrogated. If their story lines up with Dagmar’s, then this will no longer be an issue.”

“I hardly see why that means we have to stay any longer.”

Having been quiet thus far, Marigot pushed off from where she stood against the wall. 

“I could take it from here, Bethencourt,” she said. “Follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Ramstad. If I could inquire upon your first names. . .?”

Dagmar’s dad narrowed his eyes. “Yours first.”

“Elodie Marigot.” She extended a hand. “I run the Auror office.”

Because Marigot was trained in hunting dark wizards, Dagmar had no doubt she spotted the hesitation before her dad acquiesced to the handshake. Dagmar was so wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself that she hadn’t yet thought about her dad, a marked Death Eater, coming into contact with this branch of the French Ministry. 

“Why would we need to speak to an Auror?” he asked. “ _Any_ Auror, let alone the department head?”

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain.” Marigot turned to Bethencourt and said, “Send me a memo once the underage magic charge is settled.” 

Dagmar’s legs again failed to work right as she rose from her seat. While Marigot headed their small party, Dagmar shared a glance with her dad. He looked less impressed than ever to be here. Dagmar’s mum too had gone quiet. 

An archway past the apparation point led out into a hallway. Dagmar glanced out one of the windows, and then took a double-take. Off in the distance, lit up in gold, was the Eiffel Tower.

Marigot brought them into the Auror department. Her subordinates pulling the night shift followed with their gazes.

They entered Marigot’s office. It was markedly larger than Bethencourt’s. There was room in front of her desk to conjure up three chairs, which Marigot did. Dagmar took the middle one. She didn’t feel much safer in this situation surrounded by her parents. At least for now, the worst they could do in front of an Auror was cast her disapproving looks. 

“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Marigot said as she sat down opposite them. “While Dagmar defending herself against harm from Muggles is certainly not an issue, the offensive aspect of it is. The Improper Use of Magic office was alerted by her use of a Stunning Spell. _My_ office was informed about the use of a Heafonfýr Curse.”

Dagmar’s dad furrowed his brow. “I’ve never heard of that.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s a very obscure one that was banned for use sometime in the 1500s,” Marigot told him. “It was one of the forerunners for the Cruciatus Curse which, unfortunately, still remains quite popular amongst dark magic users today.”

“. . .Right.”

“I would like to know where Dagmar learned it from.” Marigot looked at her. “It’s of great interest to the French Ministry when extinct curses like that make a sudden reemergence. I do not wish to imply I have profiled your daughter, but we’re paying especially close attention to British witches and wizards right now.”

To Dagmar’s right, her dad mindlessly ran his thumb over his left forearm. 

“Where did you learn that curse?” Dagmar’s mum asked her. 

“I read about it,” Dagmar repeated. 

“Where?”

Dagmar shrugged. “I don’t remember.” 

“She does read a lot,” Dagmar’s mum told Marigot. “Dagmar is due to start her seventh year at Hogwarts in three weeks. She’s received Os in Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as most her other subjects. She may have just picked it up while studying.”

“I think so,” Dagmar followed her lead. “We were given access to the Forbidden Section last year in the library. I don’t think I read about it while trying to write an essay, but I did take a lot of books out for bedtime reading.” 

Marigot remained unmoved. “Do you read a lot about the dark arts, Dagmar?”

“How do you protect yourself against something you know nothing about?” Dagmar posed. “But. . .I suppose I do. I read a lot about a lot of things. My interest in it is merely from an academic standpoint.” 

“We’ll have someone from Hogwarts vouch for that,” Marigot said. “Perhaps it’s true. My concern is, then, if you knew how dangerous it was and what kind of bodily harm it can cause, especially to a Muggle, why use it?”

“I was frustrated,” was all Dagmar could think to reply with. “The person I tried to use it on, he’d been bothering me throughout the day. He and two of his mates followed me. They cornered me. His mate grabbed me to try and hold me there—” Dagmar showed Marigot the bruise around her right wrist, “—and I’d just had enough. Stunning wasn’t enough. They were still coming after me. I’m not proud that’s what I came up with, but. . .it’s what I came up with.”

“To use that curse so efficiently without your wand,” Marigot leaned on her elbow, “that can’t have surely been the first time you’ve cast it?”

“It’s the only time,” Dagmar said. “It’ll _be_ the only time.” 

“While we’re waiting on word back from Hogwarts, I’ll reach out to Kingsley Shacklebolt in the British Auror office. I’m sure he could easily confirm for me whether or not that curse has been used lately. It’s rare enough that it would have attracted similar attention back home.”

She left them alone in her office. Dagmar knew better than to say anything, just in case someone was still listening. Her parents were of the same mind, it seemed. Dagmar relaxed a little when her dad laid a hand on her forearm, even if it still held onto a ghost of an ache. The burns were at least fading. 

Dagmar’s mum spoke up when Marigot returned. “What should we do while we wait for the Ministry and for Dumbledore to write back? Are we allowed to leave?”

“You could go back to Nice. I have enough hands on deck that we could set up a watch around your condo,” Marigot said. “Seems excessive, I know, but standard procedure.” 

Dagmar’s mum pressed her lips together. It would draw too much attention where they were on holiday. After the Ministry being alerted and Hogwarts as well, Dagmar figured this had already attracted enough. No doubt, she would be getting one mighty tongue-lashing when—if—she finally got out of here.

The office fell quiet. Marigot was content to ignore the three of them while she tended to other paperwork. Dagmar’s dad yawned, her mum rubbing her forehead. Dagmar had half a mind to lay her head down on Marigot’s desk, but when she saw a familiar hallway as soon as she started to drift off, Dagmar rethought that. She had nothing to say when Bethencourt’s memo showed up stating that everything was fine on his end. Marc and his mates corroborated Dagmar’s story, so they had been obliviated and set free. This news didn’t seem to sway Marigot toward Dagmar’s credibility.

“While we wait, if you wouldn’t mind,” Marigot said to Dagmar, “I’d like to search your bag.”

“My bag?” Dagmar repeated. “Why?”

“You’ve been holding it quite tight since you arrived.”

Dagmar didn’t have anything to hide in it, if that’s what Marigot thought. She set it on the desk and watched as Marigot emptied its contents. Her purse was rather light after a day of shopping, with only a couple bezants left. Her quill had been bent at some point, but the ink well at least remained sealed. Marigot opened the small box of multi-coloured macarons Dagmar bought herself from the Muggle confectioner. The only object in Dagmar’s bag that drew Marigot’s interest was her messenger.

She held it up after flipping through the blank pages. “Who owns the other one?”

Dagmar shifted her feet underneath her chair. “My boyfriend.”

Marigot tapped the front of it five times with her wand. The pages visibly puffed between their covers and, this time when Marigot opened it, writing had appeared. Dagmar had no doubt that she’d dragged up all of her and Draco’s conversations for the last few weeks.

“Anything in here you don’t want me to read?” Marigot asked.

“Nothing incriminating.” Dagmar lowered her gaze, embarrassed by all three adults in the room staring at her. “Just private messages.”

Marigot sat back down and started reading. The office fell quiet again spare the occasional flip of the messenger’s pages. Dagmar hadn’t realized just how much she and Draco wrote back and forth. They’d at least never discussed anything to do with You-Know-Who or their parents’ business with him.

If an occasion of that had slipped Dagmar’s mind, Marigot never found it. She handed the messenger back along with the rest of Dagmar’s things at a little bit past two o’clock in the morning. It took everything Dagmar had not to cry from a mixture of embarrassment and fatigue.

Four o’clock passed. Dagmar had almost reached the point of not being able to comprehend any spoken word. Marigot might as well have been speaking French when a memo appeared on her desk. 

“Someone’s arrived to vouch for you,” she told Dagmar. “I’ll have you and your parents take a seat out in the office while I speak to him.”

Dagmar’s feet moved as sluggishly as her mind. She hardly comprehended at all that Professor Snape, looking in a mood Dagmar wouldn’t test were she currently at Hogwarts, was invited into Marigot’s office. Twenty minutes later or so, as Dagmar fended off another wave of mingled exhaustion and nausea, the office door opened again. Professor Snape emerged first, his black eyes coming to rest where Dagmar and her parents sat. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement, which Dagmar’s dad responded in kind with. Dagmar was too tired to do anything of the sort. 

Marigot approached them.

“Professor Snape and Kingsley both offered me enough information that I’m comfortable releasing you,” she told Dagmar. “A word of advice, though: stick to simple charms when you’re defending yourself, and restrict your interest in the dark arts to a theoretical level. I can’t promise that a second offence like this would go in your favour.” 

“I think I learned my lesson,” Dagmar practically slurred. 

“I appreciate your cooperation. I know it certainly wasn’t an enjoyable way to spend your night.”

The trip back southeast to their condo had to be taken via floo. There was at least a direct route to Nice, but Dagmar still had to walk from the inn to the condo building. Other than removing her shoes, Dagmar had nothing pressing enough to do before she dropped onto her bed.


	22. Heimdall

When Draco woke up the next morning, he got ready to go right away. Figuring out Dagmar’s birthday present was an exciting change of pace from what he’d spent the last couple weeks doing. Loaded with thirty galleons, just in case Dagmar’s guess at a price was at the low-end, Draco headed through the fireplace for Diagon Alley.

The Menagerie had only just opened for the day. No patrons other than Draco occupied the shop. The nearest employee came over from where she fed the rats.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a specific breed of cat,” Draco answered. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Norwegian forest cat, would you?”

“Oh. . .” She looked almost taken aback at the question. “No, we normally don’t carry specialty breeds.”

“Do you know where would?”

The witch could at least confirm to Draco that they were common in Scandinavian countries. She offered to write to their sister stores in Bergen, Stockholm, and Copenhagen to see if anybody could be of help, but it occurred to Draco it would be a lot quicker just to go himself. It would take too long for an owl to make a round-trip to any of the three cities—longer than Draco was willing to wait, anyway.

He didn’t expect when he woke up that he would be leaving the country, however briefly. Bergen had left enough of an impression on Draco that he felt nostalgic as he stepped out of the fireplace in Den Sultne Jotunn. It squeezed his heart.

Draco had done well distracting himself while Dagmar was gone. Being back here, he couldn’t ignore any longer just how much he missed her. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of her. She’d thrown a knut in the lobby fountain. The doors to the rooms they’d stayed in were visible from down below. The same server that had poured them coffee every morning did so for other restaurant patrons.

Despite how much he ached for more than to talk with Dagmar through a book, Draco’s mood still lifted as he tried to remember where he’d seen an animal shop in Trollmannsgaten.

“Hallo!” an older witch greeted him inside the Menasjeri. “Hvordan kan jeg hjelpe deg?”

“Er. . .” Although Draco understood what she’d said, his mind blanked on how to reply. He repeated instead a short phrase that Dagmar had taught him: “Beklager, snakker du engelsk?”

The witch blinked, then held up a finger. “Sassa!”

A younger witch that looked closer to Draco’s age came out from the back. She exchanged some quick words with her boss before smiling at Draco. “I speak English. How can I help you?”

Draco had hardly begun to explain what he was there for when Sassa lit up and gestured for him to follow. They headed toward the back of the shop where a large enclosure fit with various poles, posts, landings, and houses contained a slew of Norwegian forest cats.

“These are last September’s litters,” Sassa explained to Draco. “Is there a certain colour you’re looking for? Personality? We’re all quite familiar with each animal after raising them to homing age.”

Draco hummed in thought. “I’m getting one as a birthday gift for my girlfriend. She said she likes males that are cuddly.”

“Certainly not a difficult trait to find in this breed,” she replied. “They’re all very friendly, not overly so to the point of being dependent, but she’ll be hard-pressed to keep them off her bed at night.”

Draco was drawn to one in particular that sat at the front of the enclosure, near where he talked to Sassa. The cat was mostly a dark smokey grey colour, with black legs and head. It had a light grey mane. Its bushy tail swished back and forth in intrigue.

“That’s Heimdall,” Sassa told Draco when she noticed him and the cat eyeing each other up. “He’s a he. Still very kittenish, but certainly affectionate when he isn’t being a coy little boy. Ikke deg?”

She bent down to put her finger through the enclosure’s fence. Heimdall stretched his neck forward toward it, his yellow eyes narrowing in curiosity. He ran his cheek along Sassa’s finger hard enough for his lip to lift and show his teeth. He walked alongside the edge, leaving a line in his long fur where Sassa’s finger passed through. His tail twitched.

Draco stuck his fingers through the fencing and was pleased when Heimdall scratched his cheek next against them. He could feel the vibrations as he purred. “What’s your price?”

“The flat rate for each cat is twenty-nine romer.”

Draco had been away from Norway long enough to forget the exact value of a romer. He at least knew that twenty-nine was high. He and Dagmar had paid ten even for their two rooms the week they stayed here.

“A bit higher than you were expecting?” Sassa ventured.

“Sort of,” Draco replied. “What might that be in galleons?”

“Close to fifty, I would say.”

When Dagmar told Draco they cost at least twenty, she was technically correct. Draco hadn’t brought enough money with him to Bergen and even if he had, he still hesitated.

“I should probably talk to Dagmar first,” he told Sassa. “Money’s not an issue, but it’s more than she expected to spend.”

Sassa leaned over a little closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Consulting your partner on something like this is always a good idea.”

Draco laughed, mind set. As disappointed he was to return home empty-handed, he felt he did the right thing.

He wrote to Dagmar in his messenger: _I spent the morning looking around at prices for the cats. Your guess was a little shy. . .they’re closer to 50, turns out. The price doesn’t matter to me at all, but since you weren’t 100% on us splitting twenty galleons I didn’t want to sign you up on spending more than that just for your half. Is it still okay with you?_

Draco kept an idle eye on the page while he popped half a dozen of the truffles that had arrived that morning one-by-one into his mouth. Dagmar still hadn’t replied by the time he swallowed the final one, so he counted out the extra galleons he would need to make the purchase, should she say yes. Later on it occurred to him he should set more aside as well for any supplies he might need. Cats could fend for themselves food-wise, but there might be things like a basket or brush that weren’t included in the price.

Because Draco had something on his mind he wanted to get done today, he grew restless waiting for Dagmar’s reply. Had she changed her mind? After Draco had already gone and met Heimdall, not to mention committing to the idea of getting him regardless of price, he would actually be quite disappointed if this didn’t pan out.

Finally, just before three o’clock in the afternoon, Dagmar wrote back: _It’s a lot of money._

 _I know,_ Draco dashed down. _I mean it though when I say I’m not worried about the price. I would buy it outright still if it didn’t make you uncomfortable. It’s the going rate for those cats so if you want the specific breed, it’s what it costs. And I say if you’re going to commit to having an animal for fifteen years then you should get exactly what you want._

_I guess._

Draco waited for more words to appear, but they didn’t. _Do you still want the cat?_

 _Maybe we should count this toward Christmas too,_ Dagmar replied. _That would make me feel better about it. We could still exchange small gifts then if we planned on it, but this will be all the money I care to spend for a while._

 _I’m okay with that_ , Draco agreed.

_Okay._

Draco dipped his quill again, intent to ask Dagmar how her day had gone so far. She’d made it a habit for the rest of her holiday to give him little updates here and there, but she hadn’t yet today. While that struck Draco as strange, as well as her inscrutable mood, he had something time-sensitive he needed to do.

He closed his messenger and headed off again for the fireplace. Half an hour later, Draco stood in front of Sigrid at the front desk of Den Sultne Jotunn, exchanging his galleons to romer. Forty-five minutes after that, he was counting out the bills in front of Sassa at the Menasjeri. Heimdall shifted around in the enclosed basket that Draco had bought to transport him in. A bag of toys and accessories sat on top of it.

“Perfect,” Sassa said when she double-checked Draco’s money. “I’ll get you that certification if you give me just a second to fetch it. . .”

While she rooted around in the back, Draco stuck his fingertips through the gate on Heimdall’s basket. Heimdall ignored him and licked his paw.

Sassa returned with a stamped piece of parchment. “This contains all the information you need about Heimdall’s genetic background. You’ll hear from us if anything needs to be updated. Likewise, if Heimdall falls ill with anything serious, please let us know so that we can inform everyone else that has a relative of his, as well as any future buyers.”

“Absolutely.”

Draco placed the parchment in the bag with Heimdall’s accessories, and had to suppress a grunt when he pulled Heimdall’s basket off the counter. He was a heavy boy, weighing in at an astounding fifteen pounds when Sassa did a final inspection of him with Draco in the back room. He’d looked big inside the skogkatt enclosure, but he was even more massive close-up. Draco couldn’t remember Grim ever being this big, but then again, he’d never seen Dagmar’s old cat up very close.

Heimdall really didn’t like travelling by floo, come to find. He started meowing after their arrival in London, and grew even more insistent about his unhappiness when Draco made the jump one more time from there to Malfoy Manor. Draco was surprised the racket didn’t attract his parents’ attention. Heimdall at least calmed down in a quieter environment. Draco set the basket down by the desk in his room. Heimdall lowered his head and peered around.

Draco sat down on the floor and opened the gate. “Did you want to come out?”

Heimdall eyed the curled finger Draco offered him, but he wasn’t as sure of himself away from the Menasjeri. Deciding to let him go his own pace, Draco left Heimdall to it. He checked if Dagmar had written him again, but she hadn’t.

Draco had half a mind to tell her what waited for when she came back home. He decided against it. He couldn’t surprise Dagmar with a cat, but he could surprise her with who she got, as well as when she got him.

* * *

Dagmar had only been asleep for a couple of hours upon return from the French Ministry when she woke up for the first time because of her arm. The pain came in waves, like a deep ache that reached the bone. At one point, she got up and inspected it in the well-lit bathroom. Nothing appeared wrong with it. The burns had all faded. It felt like they had merely absorbed into her flesh.

The condo remained quiet until past noon. Whenever Dagmar briefly woke after that, she could hear her parents talking in low tones out in the living room. She checked her messenger mid-afternoon, and hardly registered what Draco had to ask about the cat. It felt a million miles away and completely irrelevant to her right now. Dagmar wished for the hundredth time that last night had just gone normally. She wished she could be engaging with Draco, but now there was something massive between them again until Dagmar felt ready to tell him what had happened.

Dagmar fell back asleep for another little while. Her arm woke her up again, and since she had to use the toilet, she figured she might as well give up on fully resting.

Her parents hushed when Dagmar opened her bedroom door. Rather than go back into her room once she was done in the bathroom, she leaned against the corner by her door.

“Afternoon,” her mum greeted her.

Dagmar shrugged. When she crossed her arms and applied pressure to her left forearm, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Sleep okay?”

“Not really,” Dagmar said.

“Come sit.”

Dagmar dropped down on the couch opposite the sofa her parents sat on. She yawned. A headache pressed in behind her eyes.

“Where _did_ you learn that curse?” Dagmar’s dad asked.

“I read about it,” Dagmar repeated. “I think in one of Mr. Malfoy’s books.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember. I read quite a few while we were staying at their manor. Why?”

“This was a lot of attention we didn’t need right now,” her dad told her. “We were lucky that you have a good record otherwise, not using juvenile magic. Professor Snape could speak on your behalf. Those Muggles corroborated every other bit of the story. You and Draco had the sense not to write down anything about our business. All that luck doesn’t leave much room for comfort.”

Dagmar played with the end-strands of her hair, gut alight again with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you even doing in that Muggle district?” The curl in Dagmar’s mum’s lip was audible. “And so late, at that? Surely you can’t have expected you’d be safe, especially unarmed.”

“It was just those Muggles,” Dagmar quietly replied, vision blurred. “All the rest left me alone.”

“So you’re going to make excuses for those men, now?” her mum replied. “I’ve barely slept, thinking what might have happened to you if you couldn’t use magic to protect yourself. You might not even be here.”

“Who would you tell off, then?”

“Dagmar. . .” Her mum’s tone dripped with warning.

Her dad cleared his throat. “We’ve decided that we should go home early. I’m sure you wouldn’t have any protest, would you?”

“Nei.” Dagmar couldn’t imagine walking through Nice on her lonesome again. For now at least, the city had been ruined for her. She was still rattled and in pain.

“Go pack your things, then.”

Despite not minding going home, Dagmar harboured an aching throat and wet eyes as she gathered all her things together in her room. She’d managed to ruin their holiday, and their summer as a whole had been wrecked for a second time. She had no idea what kind of fallout her parents might experience from this. To have their manor searched could be a one-off fluke. However, their underaged daughter using a curse like that would indeed raise a red flag in the British Ministry, just like it had in the French one. Thoughts of the repercussions made Dagmar sick to her stomach. She didn’t approve of the things her parents did or believed, but she still loved them. She didn’t want to see them in Azkaban or on the run. Dagmar had hoped they’d come to their senses about You-Know-Who before it ever came close to that, but maybe they were actually willing to go that far for him.

Dagmar hesitated when it came time to pack up her messenger. What should Draco know? What could Dagmar even keep from him?

For now she wrote: _My parents decided that we’re going to come home early. I guess they’re out of things to do._

She hated to lie, but hot shame for her actions held Dagmar back on telling the truth. Even if she wanted to, she shouldn’t tell Draco everything through her messenger anyway. The last thing she could risk was Marigot or Kingsley Shacklebolt showing up for some sort of follow-up.

It surprised Dagmar that Draco replied right away. _Oh really? Not going to lie, I’m happy for that. The last few weeks have gone on long._

Some kind of good feeling mixed in with everything else roiling inside Dagmar was just too much to handle. She had to wipe her eyes so that she could see the page before responding: _I can’t wait to see you either._

It scared Dagmar too. She couldn’t fathom telling Draco about all this face-to-face. What other choice did she have, though?

Dagmar put her messenger away, and then sat with her bags in the living room while her parents finished packing. She could hardly look at them when they finally emerged. Dagmar and her dad waited outside the office while her mum went inside to hand in their keys.

Half an hour later, Dagmar was packing her bags up the foyer staircase in her family’s manor. She couldn’t wait to hole up in her room and not see anybody for a while. Although she missed Draco, she didn’t know if she was in the right mood to visit with him. They’d left off on a bad note the last time they actually saw one another in the flesh, and Dagmar didn’t want them to come back together like that. She didn’t know how it could be avoided, though.

Not bothering with the rest of her things, Dagmar grabbed her messenger to write to Draco: _Sorry, I didn’t tell the full truth earlier. It’s not that my parents ran out of things to do in Nice. Something happened yesterday and we all just decided to come back. I’m still pretty upset about it and I’m not sure if you’d want to spend time with me when I’m like this. I hardly want to be around myself, really._

Dagmar laid down on her bed. She tried not to be discouraged that Draco didn’t reply right away, since unless they were in the middle of a conversation, he could be doing anything else.

He wrote back ten minutes later: _Of course I still want to see you. What happened?_

_I’d rather talk about it in-person._

_Can I come over?_

Dagmar hesitated. _Maybe give me an hour. I need to shower and I haven’t even eaten yet today._

_Just let me know when you’re ready._

Dagmar headed into the bathroom, in that case. She’d made the right call to put off seeing Draco until she’d cleaned herself up. Her eyes remained puffy from her punctuated night, and her skin somehow pale despite the tan she’d developed from all the hours spent on the beach in Nice. Dagmar frowned and shifted her gaze from the mirror to her left forearm when she noticed something in dim natural light. Deep underneath, as if something had burrowed there, was a dark discolouration. It almost looked like a thin layer of ash had been spread over her skin, but nothing came away when she rubbed at it. As if to punish her for even thinking about the injury, Dagmar winced as it gave an ample throb.

She both looked and felt a bit better on the other side of cleaning up. Dagmar picked some clothes out of her closet before opening the messenger again on her desk. Water still dripped from her hair as she wrote to Draco: _I’m just getting dressed. Come whenever._ _I trust you won’t get lost between the great room and my room if I don’t beat you down there._

_K_

Dagmar was in the middle of brushing her hair when a knock came at her bedroom door. Despite how low she’d felt so far today, when her heart leapt at the prospect of finally seeing Draco again, it managed to stay somewhat elevated. A smile came on with ease as Draco passed her by where she held the door open for him. He studied her, seeming uncertain, but since she probably didn’t look too hard done by in a moment of happiness, he relaxed.

The world beyond the walls of Dagmar’s room disappeared as if swallowed by a fog when Draco pulled her into a hug. The tension she’d retained in her muscles bled away. Dagmar’s breathing slowed and evened out. She turned her nose more into his neck, comforted by his scent. It was something she hadn’t really noticed before, but subconsciously it had become something she strongly associated with him. Dagmar felt more at home now than when she’d actually arrived here.

She sighed contentedly. “It’s such a relief to be back.”

Two weeks hadn’t been long enough for Draco to change much, but it was enough time for Dagmar to look at him anew with fresh eyes. Her stomach fluttered when Draco pulled back enough from their hug for their gazes to meet. He was as handsome as ever, but something had ineffably changed during the fortnight they’d been apart. Whatever it was weakened her at the knees when their foreheads touched. Dagmar wrapped her arms back around Draco’s shoulders as he kissed her. She couldn’t suppress the full groan that rose from within her to have such close physical contact with him again. The little bit of it that managed to escape died instead against Draco’s lips.

“So. . .” Draco said between kisses. “How are you?”

Dagmar’s smile flickered. She would much rather stay like this, but with their greeting out of the way, the concern he’d arrived with returned.

“Let’s sit,” Dagmar suggested.

She had tossed her brush onto the couch before answering the door. Dagmar picked it back up and stood in front of Draco.

“Honestly, it feels better just to be in good company again,” she said. “And it helps to be away from there. Now everything just feels more surreal, like maybe I only imagined it.”

As if on cue to remind Dagmar otherwise, her forearm throbbed. She didn’t have enough warning to suppress her reaction, but even if Draco noticed, he might have just attributed it to her brush hitting a snag.

“What happened?”

Details had already started slipping away from Dagmar’s memory. She could remember clearly the scarier moments, like when Marc’s mate had jumped out at her while she sat on the steps, and then when he grabbed her, but a lot of it felt more like a dream. Her entire stint at the French Ministry didn’t feel real at all, since Dagmar had been so exhausted.

“Before I tell you, just know it was more scary than actually harmful,” Dagmar prefaced the story with. “I was followed on my way back to the condo by some Muggles. They wouldn’t leave me alone until I stunned one of them.”

The ghost of a wrinkle appeared in Draco’s forehead. “What did they want?”

“I’m not totally sure.” Dagmar put her brush on the corner table and sat down next to Draco on the couch. Turned toward him, she swung one leg over his, and rested her cheek against the back cushion. “They were quite drunk. They mentioned something about going with them to a club to meet their mates. I don’t think they realized I’m underage. Well, if I was a Muggle, I’d be _really_ underage. One of them, I’d seen earlier that day in a café. He was a little too friendly. I told him thanks but no thanks, and I figured that’d be the end of it.”

While Dagmar spoke, Draco’s eyebrows slowly rose. They’d gone as far as they could by the time she finished.

“What?” she asked.

“The way you tell that, sounds to me you’re maybe downplaying their intentions.”

Dagmar shrugged. Draco didn’t say that in an accusatory way, but she was still feeling quite sensitive about the whole thing.

“I just don’t want to think about what might have happened if I couldn’t defend myself.” Dagmar preferred to look down at where she played with Draco’s hand than meet his gaze.

“I don’t blame you,” Draco said. “I don’t either.”

“My parents think it was my fault,” Dagmar replied. “They said I had no business being in the Muggle parts of the city anyway. As if that was a problem when _they_ went there.”

That more than what had happened with Marc and his mates bothered Dagmar right now. It might be that her mum only said that as a means to channel her anger about other things the two of them didn’t discuss.

“Yeah, that’s bollocks.” Draco squeezed her hand. “Don’t listen to them. You never asked for that.”

Dagmar shook her head. Her emotions had touched on the matter again, bringing a heavy blurriness back to her eyes.

Draco pressed his lips to her forehead. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is nice,” she told him. “I don’t feel as alone as I did after all that happened.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed keenly, his lips pursing in thought.

“Did you have a chance to eat?” he asked.

Dagmar shook her head. She hadn’t felt any pressing need for food yet despite knowing she should have some anyway.

“Why don’t you come to my place for dinner?” Draco suggested. “My parents were gearing up to leave when I was heading out. We’d have the manor to ourselves.”

“Sure,” Dagmar agreed. “Honestly, I could stand to get out of here. I don’t want much to do with my parents at the moment.”

She slipped on some shoes in her closet, and grabbed a hair tie. While taking a slow walk down the foyer staircase, she braided her hair back into a plait. Draco kept walking ahead, then had to stop so Dagmar could catch up. Dagmar thought it sweet he was so eager to spend the evening together. She looked forward to it too. In a way, they had been doing this for the last two weeks. While being able to remain in contact was great, it could never be as good as this. Just because she could, Dagmar took the opportunity in the great room to pull Draco back toward her for a swift kiss.

He waited in the great room of his own manor house for her as she came in behind him from the fireplace. Coming back to Malfoy Manor was almost like revisiting the part of the summer prior to when that mess in France had happened. Sure, Dagmar was stressed back then about what was going to happen with her manor being searched, but now that she knew that had turned out fine, she could focus more on the positive parts of that turbulent period. She couldn’t stop herself from touching Draco while they stopped in the kitchen to make dinner requests, even if it was just one of his hands in both of hers.

They didn’t make it up the dining room stairs before Dagmar brought them to a halt. The fleeting concern that she might be annoying Draco with her clinginess died when he pressed her up against the wall, having caught the same spirit. His weight holding her in place invoked a sense of helplessness, but it wasn’t at all similar to what Dagmar had experienced in Nice. It was comfortable and exciting. She trusted Draco that, no matter how carried away they might get with one another, he wouldn’t push her for more than she was ready for.

Right now, Dagmar was having a hard time telling where exactly her boundaries laid. Draco’s hands left a trail of fire wherever they went. While his mouth was equally greedy, his tongue somehow remained soft in the way it grazed hers. Dagmar exhaled heavily whenever she could in attempt to burn off the excess heat coiling within her, but it was no good. It settled as a throb in her core, pounding to the beat of her heart.

With a laboured exhale, Draco rested his head heavily on Dagmar’s shoulder. Dagmar smoothed his hair down where she’d mussed it up. She felt just as flustered and overwhelmed.

“All right?” Dagmar murmured in his ear.

He nodded. “Just need a minute.”

The amount of restraint he showed impressed Dagmar. She felt guilty that he had to exercise it at all. Dagmar could see exactly where their feelings for each other would eventually lead, and surely Draco knew too. He probably wouldn’t forget in the meantime what it felt like to be with someone like that, and Dagmar would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling extremely curious and tempted in the moment.

Draco lifted his head again. Dagmar’s face burned hot enough when their gazes met that she was sure he could feel it when he stroked her cheek and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. His shoulders rose and fell under the weight of a stabilizing breath.

“Come on.” His voice had turned a little raspy. “Before we get to my room, just a heads up. I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

Draco wouldn’t say anymore about it. Dagmar followed eagerly, her hand in Draco’s, and looked around the room when he let them in. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as her focus fell on the window ledge beside Draco’s bed. A beautiful black smoke Norwegian forest cat sat there looking back at her, its bushy tail swishing back and forth.

She looked at Draco. He smirked with his chest puffed, clearly proud of himself.

“This is Heimdall,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would’ve already gotten a cat,” Dagmar replied. It had fallen so far away from her mind that she was genuinely surprised to see one here. She walked over to the end of Draco’s bed, where part of the window ledge carried over. “Wow, just _look_ at him. Du er en kjekk gutt, ikke deg?”

Heimdall meowed in response, a high-pitched noise that melted Dagmar even further toward him. He walked down the window ledge toward her, making a noise in his throat before pushing his head into her hand. That he responded so positively to Dagmar unintentionally speaking Norwegian made her think.

“Where did you get him?” she asked Draco as he took a seat nearby on the bed.

“Bergen,” he replied. “The Menasjeri in Trollmannsgaten. Why?”

Dagmar chuckled. “I don’t think he understands much English, if any at all. I guess that settles it. You _have_ to learn Norwegian now, so that the cat will like you.”

“He’s warming up to me just fine.” Draco reached up to run his fingers over Heimdall’s bushy side. “Can’t he just learn English?”

“The cat learn English,” Dagmar guffawed. “ _Honestly_.”

Draco shrugged, a smirk coming on. “What was that you just said to him, then?”

“‘You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you?’” Dagmar told him. “Clearly a winning first impression.”

Heimdall purred away, pushing his head up every time Dagmar made to pet him. He tried to turn on the window ledge, but he was just too large. He jumped down onto the bed with another quick meow, tail upright and quivering as he let Draco pet him next.

“So friendly too.” Dagmar picked him up so that she could sit down where he’d stood. “And heavy. How old is he?”

“Eleven months, or so.”

Dagmar let out a low whistle. “He’ll probably end up around twenty pounds, is my bet. Hva en stor, kjekk gutt!”

Heimdall meowed again in happiness of the compliment, making Dagmar laugh. “I see why you were drawn to him. He’s got a little ego too.”

Draco scoffed, but softened when Dagmar rested her head on his shoulder. “You like him all right, then?”

“Ja.” Dagmar nuzzled Draco. “Thank you. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time about the whole money thing.”

“It’s okay.” Draco put an arm around her. “I get where you’re coming from on that. Out-of-hand spending isn’t a habit we should get into right when we turn of-age.”

“It’s just what I was taught.” Dagmar shrugged. “It only takes one bad generation to wipe out a family fortune.”

“We can square up whenever you’re ready. I don’t mind just making him a birthday gift, though.”

“Nice try.”

Dagmar kissed Draco’s cheek before he turned his face enough to catch another one on the lips. She’d thought after being restricted to only talking while she was gone to Nice that it would be hard for them to find anything worth discussing, now that she was back. There were details about her trip that Dagmar hadn’t thought worth putting into written word, but she wasn’t overly keen to stay on that topic as they visited. Their dinner came, which clued Dagmar in on how Draco and Heimdall had bonded without a common language. Heimdall was quite content to eat a chunk of Draco’s turbot. He licked his chops loudly when his little plate was clean, and then he spent a good amount of time cleaning his paws and face before falling asleep on Draco’s bed.

After finishing her dinner, Dagmar laid down beside Heimdall to pet him some more. The only sign he showed of waking from being touched was a twitch followed by purring. Draco joined them when he too was done.

The sun set, and then the sky faded to black as midnight approached. Dagmar wasn’t tired at all, since she’d slept for most of the day. She was starting to see signs of it in Draco. He grew quieter for short stints, yawned, and laid down more than sat up. Although Dagmar doubted she was overstaying her welcome, she still felt bad.

Her stomach dropped when Draco took what looked like a final stretch. “I might have a shower and turn in.”

Dagmar nodded where she laid on her back, fingers running through Heimdall’s fur. “Okay.”

“All right?”

“Ja. . .” Dagmar shrugged. “Sorry, I could tell you were getting tired. Tonight’s been really nice, and it doesn’t help that I couldn’t care less about going home.”

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you like,” Draco replied. “My parents wouldn’t care if you slept in the room you stayed in before.”

“So long as I’m not imposing.”

“I doubt my parents will even realize you’re here.”

Dagmar appreciated the hospitality, but it wasn’t exactly where she wanted to sleep tonight. She was too shy to invite herself into Draco’s bed. At least she didn’t have to go home, which was a decent middle ground. Dagmar wrinkled her nose enough at the prospect of going there just long enough to grab what she needed for the night.

Her manor house was dark and quiet. Dagmar listened carefully when she arrived in the great room that she hadn’t stirred her parents, but nobody called out or came to check on her. Since Draco was still in the shower when Dagmar returned to Malfoy Manor, she just changed quickly in his bedroom and put her clothes and toiletry bag on the chair. She laid on the bed again with Heimdall underneath the open window, wondering how she could weasel her way into Draco’s bed for the night. It probably wouldn’t be hard, but she overthought it anyway.

Draco emerged from his bathroom in a pair of shorts. His combed hair already lost its slick form thanks to the fingers he ran through them. Whether or not he noticed the once-over he received from Dagmar was up for debate due to the double-glance he took toward the bed.

“I didn’t expect you to still be here,” he said.

“Sorry.” Dagmar sat up to slip off the bed. “I wanted to say good night first.”

She ran her nails lightly over Draco’s back as they held each other. Dagmar was having a hard time letting him go. She started to worry again that she crossed the line on being clingy, and that she should just wrap this up before Draco grew annoyed.

Draco held her by her upper arms when she pulled away, eyes narrowed anew in study. “Do you want to stay in here?”

Dagmar’s cheeks glowed warm as she smiled guiltily. “Ja, but I also feel like I’ve invaded your space enough for one day.”

“You must be joking. When did I make you think I was getting tired of you?”

Dagmar shrugged. He hadn’t. Her insecurity came from within. Dagmar didn’t usually feel so strapped for company. This was new to her. It left her frazzled and feeling like she didn’t have control over herself.

“Stay,” Draco told her.

“You’re sure?”

He nodded, his fingers trailing down to her elbows. “I think it would’ve been the obvious thing for tonight if it was something we’d done before.”

Dagmar felt better that he agreed. They’d been apart for so long, and while Dagmar only experienced the loss in waves while she was in Nice, it had all come down on her today. Once her birthday passed, the rest of summer would disappear so quickly before the start of term. Dagmar was already feeling the absence of the freedom they’d found with each other, for when they had to return to their normal lives come September.

She nipped into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Before her lingering demureness could show itself again, Dagmar crawled up from the foot of the bed to the inside between Draco and the wall. She pulled the blanket up over herself.

“I’m set,” she said.

With a quick wave of his wand, Draco extinguished all the torches that lit his room. It was plunged into darkness spare squares of light where the windows were. A thousand stars lit up the sky, blocked only by Heimdall’s loaf of a silhouette on the ledge above where Dagmar laid.

The bed jostled, the blanket rustling. It shifted over Dagmar as Draco moved closer. She stiffened, uncertain, as a weight came to rest on her shoulder. Draco ran his hand down her arm above the covers.

“All right?” he asked her.

“I’m not sure,” Dagmar answered honestly. “I’m nervous, but I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe just because there’s probably a connotation that since I want to sleep with you, I want to. . .well, sleep with you.”

So much as mentioning it when they laid together in the dark in Draco’s bed burned Dagmar’s cheeks again.

“I mean. . .” she spoke again before Draco had a chance to reply. “I know I’m going to want to eventually. I’m just not ready yet. I didn’t mean to say that I don’t want to. That’s not accurate.”

“I didn’t expect we would tonight,” Draco said. “If you wanted it or was ready, I’m sure you would’ve said something.”

“I don’t know, I kind of want it,” Dagmar admitted, “but I don’t think I’m ready. I get really nervous if I think on it too seriously.”

Dagmar’s eyes had adjusted enough to the semi-darkness to see Draco’s silhouette. He shrugged. “That’s perfectly fine, so long as you don’t think because you’re here that we have to do anything at all.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to a good snog.”

Draco snorted, which broke Dagmar’s nerves enough for her to chuckle as well. Her heart picked up when Draco moved closer again. She was calmer this time, now that she knew what she could expect. Their noses bumped in the darkness before Dagmar found her way from there. They remained careful by it, bordering on lazy. Dagmar slipped a hand under the covers so that she could keep on scratching Draco’s back. He’d seemed to really enjoy it earlier, and the same could be said again now.

“Am I leading you on?” Dagmar asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Things like earlier, when we were on our way upstairs,” Dagmar replied. “It didn’t lead anywhere. Or like laying here. . .it’s not going anywhere.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it. Isn’t that all that should matter?”

“Ja, I guess.” Dagmar briefly held her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t want you to be frustrated or anything, is all.”

“I’m not.”

“You’d tell me if you were?”

Draco hummed in thought, hesitating. “Depends. I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured to do anything you’re not ready for. The closest I’d probably go to that is just being open about what I want. I can deal with sexual frustration on my own. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Despite herself, Dagmar giggled.

Draco nudged her. “What, and you don’t?”

“. . .Fair enough.”

“So that doesn’t have to be a factor in when we go that way,” Draco said. “That said, I’m looking forward to figuring it out with you once we get there.”

A thought came to Dagmar. “That’s kind of what we’ve been doing all along, isn’t it? Just figuring things out?”

“I’d say so.”

Feeling calmer now, Dagmar shifted closer to Draco under the covers. She would’ve liked to feel Draco’s bare skin against her rather than just under her hands, but this would do for now. He still fit nicely against her as they laid flush, enjoying each other in the dark until they slowly drifted off.


	23. Shut Out

Draco woke up when it was still dark out. Heimdall moved around on the bed, trying to find a good place to sleep between Draco and Dagmar. Draco watched Heimdall settle, then idly pet him as he closed his eyes again.

Mingled longing and bliss squeezed Draco’s chest, much like it had when he visited Bergen the day before. His eyes cracked open again. The warm night was tempered by the cool breeze passing through Draco’s open windows, and everything outside had gone quiet. Heimdall purred contentedly. Dagmar breathed quietly and rhythmically in sleep beside Draco. The moon had come out enough that he could see her face in the dark. All the concerns she’d carried throughout the day had vanished for now, leaving her in a natural state of being.

He still couldn’t quite get over how lucky he got this summer. If his parents hadn’t arranged for Draco to be with Dagmar, or if Dagmar hadn’t accepted it, Draco hardly cared to think about the state of himself. He didn’t think he could give Dagmar full credit for him finding some slice of satisfaction in his life, but she certainly had a lot to do with it. It wasn’t as simple as Draco ditching Pansy for someone a little more capable of happiness.

Maybe that was true if Draco thought about them symbolically. He knew he was miserable with his life at some level before. Dagmar happened to be a good chance to start fresh in some regards. She made Draco feel like himself.

Draco fell back asleep with his hand slipped into Dagmar’s, which lay curled up close to Draco’s pillow. He couldn’t be entirely sure about how much time had passed when he woke up again, although dawn touched the horizon. Dagmar breathed heavily through her nose, her expression set into a grimace. She trembled, and it was then Draco realized that the hand he’d taken to hold in the night was clamped onto his. Draco had to use his other one to pry himself free.

“Hey,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder.

When he did it hard enough, Dagmar drew in a long, shaky breath. Her eyes opened briefly, unfocused, before she turned her face more into her pillow. While her exhales remained heavy, her face had smoothed back out. She no longer shook. Once Draco felt confident the nightmare had passed, he dropped back off again too.

The room was bathed in sunshine when Draco next roused. He kept his eyelids shut against it to avoid being blinded. Heimdall purred further up the bed, and Draco’s bed jostled slightly as Dagmar silently chuckled.

Draco cracked his eyes. Dagmar sat up against the headboard with her pillow squished in behind her. She had her knees up with a book laid open across her thighs. Heimdall laid across her stomach, his front legs stretched out toward Draco and massive paws dangling limp. He made a noise in his throat when Draco poked one.

“Good morning,” Dagmar said to him.

Her grin, gravelly voice, and messy hair invoked a strong flutter in Draco’s stomach—certainly one of the best ways to start his day. Drawn in, Draco moved up closer to her under the covers. He rested his face in the dip of her waist. Dagmar ran her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

“Se på guttene mine,” she said.

Draco didn’t know what it meant (although he recognized ‘gutt’ now), but since Heimdall made a contented noise, it had to be good.

Dagmar nudged Draco with her hip. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good, considering,” he replied. “It was an adjustment to have someone else here. And the cat too. He woke me up when he was trying to get settled.”

“Aw, too bad,” Dagmar said. “He didn’t bother me at all. I guess I’m still used to having an animal on the bed.”

Draco nodded, rolling more onto his back so that he could look up at Dagmar. “You didn’t wake up at all last night?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

A ghost of the grimace she’d worn in sleep overcame Dagmar again.

“I thought I managed not to have a nightmare,” she said. “Usually it either wakes me up or the sheets are soaked with sweat. Neither happened, so. . .”

“You get them often?” As soon as Draco said that, he figured out the answer for himself. Pansy complained often that Dagmar slept rough.

“Almost nightly.” Dagmar shrugged. “You’d think I’d be used to them by now. I’ve had them for as long as I could remember.”

“What happens in them?”

“Mm. . .” Dagmar pushed her lips to one side. “Nothing really, that’s the weird thing. It happens in two parts. I’m in a house, it’s night, and I wake up to a noise in the next room. I go to check it out. Once I get to the hallway, I start to feel this dread. The door is ajar, but the room’s quiet now. I push the door open. Someone’s standing there, but I can’t tell who. I’ve never seen his face.”

Draco idly scratched Dagmar’s closest calf. “You can tell it’s a man?”

“Couldn’t tell you how,” Dagmar replied. “It drives me crazy because there’s nothing about it that I can even figure out. I’ve never been to that place before. I’ve never heard the sound that’s coming through the wall. I have no idea who’s there. Occlumency takes the edge off, so at this point I’ve just accepted them. They don’t bother me when I’m awake because I don’t know what they mean. Waking up can be rough, since they physically affect me.”

“I think I’ve noticed,” Draco said. “There were mornings at school I’d see you and wonder if maybe you were ill.”

“I find it hard to believe Pansy never mentioned them to you.”

“Well. . .” Draco leaned up on his elbow. “Yeah, she told me.”

“She’s never made them any easier.” Dagmar tossed the book she read down to the end of the bed. Since she shifted, Heimdall preemptively moved. He jumped up onto the windowsill while Dagmar laid down beside Draco. “She’s always been quite keen to embarrass me, actually.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure she _would_ find it funny to tell you what she thought might fix it.” Dagmar scoffed.

“I never believed you were having something like sex dreams, if it makes you feel any better.” Draco laid his arm across her waist. “Never thought it was funny, either.”

Dagmar shrugged. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. Pansy always got an easy laugh out of Millicent and Daphne for it, so why not her boyfriend too? It’s not like you would’ve known any different, since you never dealt with it.”

“I guess.” Draco toyed with Dagmar’s plait. It had gone fuzzy overnight.

She smiled and ran a thumb over Draco’s cheek before leaning in for a kiss. Dagmar sighed afterward as she studied him. “I didn’t even think that I might wake you up with it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t help it.”

“That doesn’t matter if I’m interrupting your sleep.”

“Not really,” Draco said. “I don’t think I was awake for two minutes.”

“It’ll probably get old.”

“I really don’t care,” Draco told her. “It sucks you have them, but if all it takes for them to not be so bad is me giving you a little shake, then so be it. I wouldn’t let something like that stop you from staying again tonight, or any other night for that matter. I like you here. I _want_ you here.”

Dagmar stroked his cheek again. “Okay. But you would tell me if it gets out of hand?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Depends if you’d take that as your cue to leave.”

Dagmar shrugged.

“It’d be from a place of concern, not annoyance,” Draco clarified.

Dagmar being only a quill-stroke away while she was in Nice was a great way to feel like she was always close, but it didn’t compare to her actual company. Now that she _was_ here, Draco didn’t really know how to let her go. In a little over two weeks he would have to, but what about the meantime? It was almost a shame that they had to go through a year of school before they could wake up like this every morning.

“I guess if the tables were turned. . .” Dagmar said, “I wouldn’t mind either.”

“There you go,” Draco replied. “Unless you’d rather sleep at home and you’re trying to spare my pride?”

“Nei, no way.” Dagmar ran a hand back over his shoulder. “It’s just rather embarrassing when that happens, and for six years at school I’ve kept Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne awake by it. It’s hard not to feel bad about it when they _make_ me feel bad.”

“Right.”

The day started to warm up and Draco couldn’t put off having to pee any longer. Despite the pressing nature of it, it was hard to get out of the bed. As he suspected when he poked his head out of the closet, Dagmar had gotten up and dressed. Draco figured he might as well do the same.

They didn’t have much for plans. The book Dagmar had been reading was Draco’s copy of one of their school texts. She hadn’t studied at all while in Nice, which surprised Draco. It didn’t shock him either that she was starting to panic now.

“No regrets on how I spent this summer, but I could’ve cracked a book once,” Dagmar said as she laid across Draco’s freshly made bed with _Confronting Darkness: Beyond Theory_ open in front of her. “I always feel like I trip coming out of the gate when we get back, but I think it’s going to be worse than ever this year.”

Draco scoffed. “ _You_ feel like you start rough?”

“You’ve been studying already this summer. You had the whole time I was gone to Nice.”

“You know as well as I do that my school books hadn’t been opened until today.”

The brand new textbooks creaked whenever Dagmar handled them. Unlike the Quidditch books Draco had bought, which now laid open on their own due to being well-broken in, his textbooks didn’t have a single wrinkle at the spine.

Dagmar grinned at his candour. “Weren’t you concerned about your Herbology and Charms marks, though?”

Draco pressed his lips together. He was, but he’d thought it could wait until September to start applying himself. This summer had been a very welcome break from Hogwarts, and from life in general.

“I’m not sure how to get any better at Herbology outside of the classroom,” Draco said. “As for Charms, well, I haven’t had anybody to practice with.”

“That’ll change in only a few days.” Dagmar lit up. “I wouldn’t mind practicing with you. I could stand to get myself back up to snuff after not being able to do magic since we came home.”

“You did anyway, though,” Draco pointed out.

Dagmar’s expression slipped at the reminder. It occurred to Draco she’d never mentioned getting into trouble by it, but he didn’t want to press her for details on the whole thing. It could be that the French weren’t as concerned about underage magic as the British. Dagmar couldn’t have gotten into trouble anyway, because she’d only acted in self-defence.

Wishing to change the subject, Draco grabbed his copy of _Applications of Herbology_ from the pristine stack sitting on his desk. He sat down next to Dagmar on the edge of the bed.

“I guess reading ahead will at least help me when it comes to writing essays,” he said. “I’m sure Professor Sprout will have no shortage of those up her sleeve this year.”

“Do any of the professors?”

She meant it in jest, but Draco had a feeling as the morning turned to afternoon that he’d said something wrong. Dagmar didn’t seem mad at him, just quiet and distracted while she read. Maybe Draco was reading too much into it. This was probably just how she studied. Regardless, after they’d taken a late lunch, Draco suggested they break away from the books and enjoy the nicest part of the day out in the garden.

Draco’s mum sat out in the garden with a book. Feeling awkward, Draco let his hand slip from where he’d rested it on Dagmar’s lower back.

“Hello,” his mum greeted them, a little more regally than usual since company was present. “Dagmar, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Patches of colour dim enough for just Draco to notice rose in Dagmar’s cheeks. She just smiled.

“How did you enjoy Nice?” Draco’s mum asked.

“It was good,” Dagmar replied. “I’m glad we were able to go.”

“Of course.”

With that, his mum let Draco and Dagmar carry on. They headed deeper into the gardens, where Draco thought they might have enough privacy from prying eyes or ears. Yet again, something seemed to bother Dagmar. She furrowed her brow slightly and her lips worked together as she thought.

They took a seat on a bench in some hedge’s shadows.

“All right?” Draco asked her.

“I wonder if she knows,” Dagmar said.

“Knows what?”

“What happened.”

Dagmar idly rubbed her left forearm. Draco took a double-glance at her right wrist when he noticed some discolouration there. He took her hand and brought it closer to inspect. Although Dagmar initially resisted, she relented with a heavy exhale through her nose.

Draco put two-and-two together. “This is where that Muggle grabbed you?”

“Mhm.”

“Bloody hell.”

To see actual evidence of Dagmar being confronted hurt Draco. He’d probably been asleep in his bed when all this happened, absolutely none the wiser that someone he cared about was in such a situation. He hadn’t wanted to think about how alone and scared Dagmar might have felt in the moment, mostly because she was capable of taking care of herself. But, had Draco been there, this wouldn’t have gone as far as it did. Dagmar wouldn’t have had to defend herself.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Dagmar told him. “It isn’t as bad as it looks. I came out all right in the end.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “Just. . .I don’t know, I wish I was there.”

Dagmar removed her wrist from Draco’s light grasp so that she could slip her hand properly into his. She gave it a squeeze and managed a tight smile. “Really, don’t worry about it. I got away just fine. It’s over now anyway.”

Draco knew she was right, but it was easier said than done. He didn’t like the lack of control he had over the situation, and what if Dagmar had come back worse than a little shaken up and with a bruise on her wrist? It bothered Draco enough to know she’d been scared. What if those Muggles had darker intentions for cornering a sixteen year old girl than just to goad her?

Footsteps sounded down the pathway Draco and Dagmar had arrived from. Draco leaned forward and looked to see who it was. His heart sunk when his father appeared.

“Ah, there you two are,” his father addressed Draco and Dagmar. “Narcissa said you were somewhere out here. Could I have a word with you inside, Dagmar?”

Draco was halfway to pushing himself up when his father said Dagmar’s name instead. He frowned, looking from his father to Dagmar, who didn’t look confused as much as just plain unhappy. She glanced quickly at Draco before getting up and following Draco’s father back toward the manor house. Their footsteps slowly faded away.


	24. Alone

Dagmar followed Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy no longer sat outside, and Dagmar wasn’t sure if that should worry her or not. Was she about to get into trouble? Mr. Malfoy hardly seemed the type to check in with Dagmar about how she was doing after everything that happened in Nice.

He led her toward the drawing room. Dagmar’s stomach flopped unpleasantly when, instead, they went into the library. Mr. Malfoy held the door open for her, then rested it against the frame when Dagmar passed him by.

Of all things to be concerned about in the moment, Dagmar couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands. She ended up holding them together in front of her. Mr. Malfoy studied her in turn with narrowed eyes and a high chin.

“Which book in here contains the Heafonfýr Curse?” he asked.

Dagmar had no idea off the top of her head. Rather than tell Mr. Malfoy that, she took a look around the room at all the shelves.“I’m not sure.”

“Which books did you read while you were here?”

Dagmar hesitantly half-shrugged. “Plenty.”

Given that she stood in front of her future father-in-law, Dagmar didn’t want to displease him. She also hadn’t quite settled her opinion of him either, in this new paradigm. Mr. Malfoy only really ever made Dagmar feel nervous and vaguely unwelcome. He did it again now, and Dagmar couldn’t even really say that he was wrong for it. If Mr. Malfoy asked about the Heafonfýr Curse, then that meant Dagmar’s parents had told him everything about their visit to the French Ministry. Dagmar wasn’t ignorant enough about the Death Eaters’ business that she couldn’t tell she’d compromised it.

Mr. Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a show of annoyance. “Then I suppose we should begin narrowing them down. I’ll require your help for that.”

Dagmar nodded, and gravitated toward the closest shelf. Especially with Mr. Malfoy hovering over her shoulder, she couldn’t think enough to remember where exactly she’d read about that curse. Nearly a month had passed since the last time Dagmar was in here, and even when she had been, she’d pulled a lot of books off the shelf before committing to any one that she would take back up to her room.

A title stuck out to her: _A Brief History of the Dark Arts_. Dagmar had barely removed it from the shelf before Mr. Malfoy took it out of her hands. He headed over to the centre table, opened it, and began flipping through the pages.

“Keep looking,” he told Dagmar.

With the sound of aged, turning pages in the background, Dagmar kept searching the shelves. She set a handful of books on the table that stuck out to her because she had enjoyed them. Dagmar had trouble keeping titles in her mind that hadn’t. She ran into this problem frequently at the Hogwarts library. She would sign out a book that sounded interesting, only to slog halfway through and then realize she’d read it the previous year. Dagmar couldn’t remember if she’d read about the Heafonfýr Curse in an interesting one or not, but she felt like if it was anywhere, it was in one of the titles on the table beside Mr. Malfoy.

Dagmar kept looking, just to be sure. She set another few on top of the pile she’d started beside Mr. Malfoy. He still worked on the first one she’d picked.

“I think this is all of them,” Dagmar said.

“Perfect,” Mr. Malfoy replied. He still sounded annoyed, or maybe stressed. Dagmar couldn’t tell. “Start searching, then.”

Dagmar had hoped she could leave after that. Draco probably wondered what had happened to her, and if he came looking, she had no idea what to tell him. He would ask anyway what his father wanted to see her about. The longer Dagmar was away, the more suspicious it would seem.

She took  _Glossary of Forbidden Hexes - 16th Century_ from the pile. It seemed promising. Dagmar remembered Marigot mentioning something about the Heafonfýr Curse being from the 1500s. She flipped ahead to the H section, being careful not to tear any of the pages.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she hesitantly addressed him.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for any trouble I caused,” Dagmar said. “For what it’s worth, I never told that Auror where I read that book.”

“That’s what your parents said,” Mr. Malfoy replied, gaze still scanning the book he checked. “I appreciate that, but there’s a trail that the British Ministry could logically follow to lead them here. While I don’t think there would be any outright repercussions for you to have learned it under my roof and for the source material to be hence discovered in this library, it is best to fly under the radar as often as possible. Too many coincidences add up over time.”

“Right.”

“I’m not angry with you.” Mr. Malfoy’s tone implied otherwise, but he would at least look at her when he said that. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If you chose to use the Heafonfýr Curse on that Muggle, then he clearly deserved it. The French Ministry of course had to respond, but pay no mind to it. I’m sure they were just excited to feel some form of capability. Why else would they put so much pressure on an underaged practitioner?”

Dagmar just nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“Although, might I recommend,” Mr. Malfoy continued, “if you wish to practice these kinds of curses, certainly wait until you’re of-age later this week. That shouldn’t be hard. And if you require a target at all, find one that won’t be noticed—”

Dagmar looked up again. She blinked, but Mr. Malfoy didn’t notice her reaction.

“—I daresay don’t use this curse again,” Mr. Malfoy said. “The Ministry might watch you for a little while.”

“Erm. . .right.”

“It was an impressive bit of magic. Don’t let bureaucracy make you think otherwise.” Mr. Malfoy raised his gaze again. “Just be more careful next time.”

Dagmar exhaled in relief when she found the right page in the book she looked through. “It’s here, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Excellent.” He swept around the table. “Was that the only mention of it you saw?”

Dagmar nodded.

“Very well.” He offered her a smirk in lieu of a smile. “Run along, then.”

Dagmar exited through the door that she and Mr. Malfoy had come in through. She half-expected to find Draco with his ear pressed against it, but the hallway outside the drawing room was empty. So was the great room, where Dagmar next anticipated she would find Draco waiting for her.

What was she going to tell him? She wasn’t ready yet to come clean about Paris, and Dagmar wasn’t even sure if she should. It was her idea that their pending marriage relied on distancing themselves from the Death Eaters. In Dagmar’s mind, that included the use of dark magic. She didn’t want to look like a hypocrite this early on. Of course, she could use the excuse that it was in self-defence, but Marc was an ordinary Muggle. Look at what Dagmar had done to his mate with a Stunning Spell. She could’ve put Marc off her tail just as easily with another one of those.

She’d _chosen_ the Heafonfýr Curse. She _wanted_ Marc to suffer for the petty crime of annoying her. Since she couldn’t actually be harmed, that was the worst he ever would’ve done to her. It could be argued that Marc had more sinister things in mind for Dagmar. That didn’t matter, though. He could’ve come at her with a knife or something, and she still would’ve had the upper hand. A Disarming Spell would’ve put an end to that.

Dagmar headed back out into the garden. She wasn’t sure if Draco would still be there, but if he wasn’t, that gave her a little extra time while finding him to come up with a plausible story that didn’t involve the Heafonfýr Curse or any of the fallout of its use. Unfortunately for that, he sat exactly where Dagmar had left him.

He looked her over. Dagmar hadn’t realized it before, but he scrutinized someone the same way his father did. “What was that about?”

“Nothing, really,” Dagmar lamely replied with a shrug. “He was looking for a certain book in the library, couldn’t find it, and thought it might have been one that I borrowed earlier this summer.”

“Which one?”

“That one with the forbidden hexes.” Dagmar sat down beside him. “The sixteenth century one.”

Draco’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “If I remember correctly, that was the first one you borrowed. I was quite unhappy with you that day.”

Grateful for the distraction and endeared anyway, Dagmar smiled. “And I with you.”

Draco put his arm around Dagmar’s shoulders. As lovely of a day it was, Dagmar couldn’t enjoy it as much as she would’ve liked. She hated keeping something from Draco. How would she ever explain to him why she thought the Heafonfýr Curse suitable for that situation, though? It made Dagmar sick to think about acknowledging that barbaric void she attributed to pureblooded wizards. Draco had come so far in only a short time. Beliefs generally took longer than that to change for good, so he was in a vulnerable place with it. If Dagmar brought up that this was something they as purebloods couldn’t help, then he might think there was no point in aiming for better, since it was as natural to them as a thestral drawn to the smell of flesh.

“While you were with my father I was thinking,” Draco said. “Do you have plans yet for your birthday?”

Dagmar shook her head. “None other than I’d rather spend it with you than my parents. Oh—I have my apparation test booked the morning of. I just about forgot.”

They send you a reminder owl a few days ahead,” Draco replied.

“That’s the only thing I have planned, anyway.” Dagmar sighed. “I hope I pass. It’s been some time since I could practice. You were lucky to do yours during the school year, for that.”

“True enough.” Draco squeezed her. “You’ll do just fine.”

“We’ll see.”

At least if Draco thought Dagmar was just nervous about a test she couldn’t study for, he wouldn’t attribute her anxiety to anything else. In a way, Dagmar hated just how readily Draco took what she said at face value. If he contested her mood out of suspicion, it might compel Dagmar to be more honest with him.

On the other hand, Dagmar and Draco had promised to be brutally honest when they had to be. That was easier said than done, especially now that feelings were very much involved. If Draco found out another way that Dagmar had lied to him this early on, it would be very disruptive. Did Dagmar really want that to be an issue on top of the issue she omitted? It would all come out, eventually.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Dagmar asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Draco answered. “I should just put on some Sunshield Potion.”

“Me too.”

They headed up to Draco’s room for that. While Dagmar waited by the door for him to finish up, Heimdall rubbed up against her legs. As cute as it was, Dagmar shied away so that Heimdall’s long hairs wouldn’t stick to her slightly damp calves. He stood expectantly at the door.

“You want to come too, little boy?” Dagmar asked him in Norwegian.

Draco caught up to Dagmar and Heimdall, and Heimdall darted out of the bedroom when Dagmar opened the door. He stopped outside of it, unsure anew of his surroundings, and flicked his tail in curiosity. With a meow, he skipped on after Dagmar and Draco down the foyer stairs and slipped through the front doors after them again. He stuck to the side of the road, his head low in attentiveness. Dagmar doubted he would go much further than this out of uncertainty to the territory.

With the manor house shrinking behind them, Draco slipped a hand into Dagmar’s. She squeezed, still unsure, but pretty certain she’d made the right decision to be transparent.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Dagmar said.

Draco scrutinized her the same way he had in the garden, although with his eyes more squinted thanks to the sunshine. “Oh?”

“Ja. . .” Dagmar sighed. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was going to or not. There was a whole mess in Nice apart from the thing with the Muggles. Or—I should say in Paris. I had to go to the French Ministry of Magic after it happened.”

“Because you were underaged?”

“To start.” Dagmar nodded. “One of the officials that enforces that part of the law grabbed me in Nice, and apparated us to Paris. When I was sitting in his office, an Auror came by.”

Draco frowned. “Why would an Auror care about underaged magic? Didn’t you just stun the one Muggle?”

“The one, ja. The other. . .” Here was where it got tricky. “I was going to use a different spell—a curse. He just wouldn’t quit following me. That was the one that I’d seen earlier in the day. I’d had enough. The curse I used didn’t hit him—someone else arrived in time from the Ministry to deflect it—but it caught the attention of this particular Auror.”

“The way you say that. . .” Draco narrowed his eyes. “What was so special about this Auror? Is it someone we know, or something?”

“Well, the head of the department.”

“What curse did you use to get into that kind of trouble?”

“It was from a book in your manor’s library. Just a bad one.”

“Hold on.” Draco brought them to a stop. He jerked his thumb back toward the manor, which had vanished around a corner in the lane. “What was that then, with my father back there? Were you actually helping him look for a book, or was that a lie?”

“Not entirely.” Dagmar toed the road. “He wanted to know what book it came from. I helped him find it because I couldn’t remember. I don’t know what he wanted with it, I think just to remove it in case our Ministry showed up trying to fill in the gaps, or something.

“It was a really bad night, anyway, one I hoped I could just forget about,” Dagmar said. “My parents had to be there with me because I’m underaged, and the Auror wouldn’t let me go until the Muggles corroborated my story. She didn’t want to believe that was the first time I’d used that curse, which I guess is a backwards compliment. She also didn’t think I’d just picked it up from a book, but she got enough corroborating evidence by morning to let me go. Professor Snape even came.”

“Snape?” Draco repeated. “Why?”

“I suppose on Dumbledore’s behalf.” Dagmar shrugged. “He vouched for how much I study, and all that. It was very likely, given my Os in Defence Against the Dark Arts and access to the Forbidden Section in Hogwarts library, that I could’ve picked it up anywhere. She believed me when I said it was just the first curse that came to mind in the situation.”

“Believed you as in you were lying?”

Dagmar hadn’t meant to put it quite like that. She would’ve rather eased into that part of the conversation, but Draco was sharper than that.

“Kind of, I guess?” she answered. “I was completely over the entire situation. I just wanted to get away. This Muggle wasn’t getting it. I was tired of feeling helpless. I was ready to send the point home.”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t really blame you. You feel bad? It didn’t hit him, didn’t you say?”

“Nei, but. . .” Dagmar wasn’t sure how to make him understand. Mr. Malfoy seemed to, but for all the wrong reasons. Dagmar had higher hopes that Draco wouldn’t see things the same way as him. “I don’t know, ja, I feel bad. I could’ve really hurt him. I could’ve just used another Stunning Spell. He was a Muggle. He couldn’t deflect anything, so he would’ve taken the full hit.”

“You were upset. No one blames you for that.”

Dagmar exhaled heavily through her nose, hands on her hips and lips pursed. She looked back down the lane toward the manor, unsure how to get her point across. She lacked the words to describe what she was trying to explain.

Draco folded his arms. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. You were under pressure, of course you’re going to do something you might regret later when you have a chance to think about it.”

“It’s not like I was really in danger, is the thing,” Dagmar said. “They were Muggles. The one that I stunned, he fell down some stairs and his head was bleeding where he hit it. It doesn’t take much to defend yourself against them. I could’ve stunned the other one that kept following me. Then I could’ve just gone back to the condo after I sorted everything out with the Ministry. I chose to curse him instead. I picked the nastiest one I knew shy of the Unforgivable Curses, and I didn’t even think of the consequences. I don’t even know what the consequences of that would’ve been if that Auror had any evidence of the truth. I made a bunch of trouble for our parents, drawing attention to them again.”

“Maybe I’d get it more if you told me what curse you used?”

“It’s called Heafonfýr,” Dagmar replied. “It was one of the five curses that came together over time to become the Cruciatus Curse.”

“What would it have done to him?”

“I’m not really sure.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “I guess it depends how strong it was? I cast it wandless, so maybe it. . .well, I think it would’ve burned him, for sure. Maybe like being struck by weak lightning. Not fatal, but painful. I can still feel it, myself.”

“Oh really?”

Draco came closer when Dagmar lifted her left forearm to show him. The dark pitch was best visible in this kind of light. While Draco looked, he seemed to start understanding the seriousness of it.

“I still feel like I’m missing something,” Draco told her. “Why are you beating yourself up for something you did in self-defence?”

“It wasn’t self-defence.” Dagmar took her arm back. “I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to suffer, and not for any real reason. Sure, he was annoying me and he’d scared me, but it was so out of proportion. It was an excuse.”

Draco frowned. “Okay, but I still don’t get it. Why would you want an excuse to hurt someone for?”

Dagmar was on the verge of throwing her hands up and telling Draco just to forget it. She couldn’t tell if he was being intentionally thick about the whole thing, or if this was like trying to explain to any living thing that she felt bad for breathing.

“You never feel like that?” Dagmar asked. “That. . .” she paused, gesturing at her chest, “like you just want to do that to somebody, to see what would happen? To take some of the edge off?”

While she talked, Draco’s frown deepened. “Take the edge off what?”

Dagmar touched her chest again. She didn’t know what to call it, only knew that she felt it.

“I still don’t really know what you’re talking about,” Draco said. “No, I can’t say I’ve ever felt something like that. Maybe petty stuff when I was younger, especially when I was just learning how to cast things like Tickling Charms and stuff. Never anything serious.”

If anyone was going to understand what Dagmar meant, Draco would’ve been her first guess. He’d been a relentless bully for the last six years, and it was pretty apparent to Dagmar that he took great joy from the suffering of others. It helped ease his own suffering to invoke it in the people around him. So how could he say he had no idea what she meant? It wasn’t as if Draco lied. Dagmar could tell just by looking at him. Rather than cagey, he was just growing more confused as this conversation wore on.

“Never mind then, I guess,” Dagmar said. Her voice shrunk under the weight of growing shame.

“I don’t mean to sound thick,” Draco told her, “I just don’t get it. Like actually hurting somebody for the sake of it? Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

More than that, Dagmar didn’t know how she could continue standing here under Draco’s scrutiny. Mortification to have discovered that she dealt with this alone burned Dagmar’s throat. She wished now that she hadn’t asked to go for a walk, because there was that much more distance between her and Malfoy Manor’s fireplace. Dagmar wanted nothing more right now than to be by herself. She even shrunk in when Draco rested his hands on her upper arms.

He let them fall away. “I’d ask if you were taking the piss, but. . .”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Dagmar took a step back toward the manor. “I think I should maybe go home.”

“What?” Draco fell into step beside her. “Why? Look, I don’t even get why you’re really all that upset. You’re not the type to do that. Well, I see why you’re upset you acted like that in self-defence, if it’s the sort of thing you’d feel bad about—”

“It wasn’t self-defence!” Dagmar replied, exasperated. “It’s fine if you don’t get it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t even know how to explain it, so what’s the point in trying?”

“I wouldn’t mind understanding, since it’s clearly important to you.”

Dagmar put up a hand and quickened her pace. “Just leave me alone.”

That did the trick in getting Dagmar some space, but she didn’t like the cost. Draco stopped walking, silent behind her except to call her name in exasperation as she rounded a corner in the lane.


	25. To be Vulnerable

The day had started off so well. Draco had absolutely no clue how it derailed so suddenly. Despite all the information that Dagmar had unloaded on him, he didn’t feel like he had a good grasp on what she was talking about. It just didn’t make sense. The things she said didn’t line up at all with the person Dagmar was. Maybe she and Draco hadn’t been close for very long, but he could tell enough from afar that she wasn’t a sadistic person. She’d never been a bully amongst their peers, and always fell to the complete opposite end of the spectrum when it came to empathy.

It wasn’t entirely that Draco didn’t understand what Dagmar described to him. There were people in his life much like that. He would just never classify them alongside Dagmar. They weren’t even close to resembling each other.

Draco hoped as he returned to the manor house and headed upstairs that Dagmar hadn’t been serious about going home. He might even still manage to catch her, and convince her to stay.

His room was empty. A scrap piece of parchment laid on Draco’s bed. It read: _I have Heimdall._

Sure enough, Heimdall’s basket was gone, along with the toys he’d been batting around the floor. Draco hardly had time to get attached to the cat yet, but it hadn’t taken long for him to be used to a fuller room. Only just this morning, he and Dagmar had laid together in his bed. Draco had been what he deemed impossibly happy. Mere hours later, he was left hollow.

Draco sat down at his desk and pulled his messenger toward him. Given Dagmar’s disposition, he wasn’t sure if she would check hers. Draco had to try. On that thought, he wondered if the messenger was the best way to contact her. He could better guarantee that she couldn’t ignore him if he sent Ulysses instead.

That depended on how badly Dagmar wanted—or needed—space right now. Since Draco had a weak idea of what was going on, he would be best suited to let her come back at her own pace. He hated not being more active than writing her in the messenger and, as he did that, started to feel annoyed. They hadn’t been back together for a full day, and something else had come up.

Is this what it was going to be like every time there was a problem? Whenever Draco was the one to cock up, the two of them hashed it out and were better for it. Was this Dagmar’s inexperience in relationships showing? It happening once passed beneath Draco’s notice. Dagmar had been leaving anyway to Nice, so it was just chocked up to bad fortune.

Draco crossed out what he’d written and decided on something else: _You can’t just run like that every time there’s a problem. I’d appreciate it if we could figure it out instead. We just spent two weeks apart after another instance like this and I really don’t care to do a repeat._

He sent it off before he had a chance to deliberate. To try and take his mind off the whole thing, Draco took his Firebolt out for a fly. He didn’t return home until his growling stomach demanded dinner in the late evening. He had high hopes that Dagmar had either acknowledged what he wrote, or maybe had shown back up. She wasn’t at the manor, nor did his messenger have anything new in it.

Dejected, Draco headed back downstairs to the dining room. He sat slouched over the table, his closed fist pressed up into his cheek. He poked his food moodily when the doors leading out into the terrace opened. His mum came in.

She took one look at him before her expression softened into one of pity. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Now, that’s clearly not true.” His mum took the chair beside him. “Did you and Dagmar have a fight? She looked pretty upset when she left.”

Draco’s fork stilled and he looked over at his mum. “You saw her?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think it my place to ask her what had happened.”

“I hope you’re not going to ask _me_ , because I’m still trying to figure that out for myself.” An idea struck Draco, though. “Can I ask _you_ something?”

His mum rubbed his shoulder. “Whatever you like.”

“What was Aunt Bella like, growing up?”

“Bella? Why?”

Draco shrugged. “Just curious.”

His mum considered the question with a thoughtful hum. She crossed her legs. “Well, it’s hardly a surprise that she’s spent time in Azkaban, and that she’s one of the Dark Lord’s favourites. She’d do anything for him. I do think that if Bella didn’t have the Dark Lord, she wouldn’t be doing anything different. Perhaps just unfocused, or for somebody else.”

“But what was she like as a kid?” Draco pressed. “Or at my age?”

“She joined the Death Eaters when she wasn’t much older than you. Within months of leaving Hogwarts,” his mum said. “I think by the time I came home for Christmas that year, she had the Dark Mark. While she was at school, she kept a rough crowd. Antonin Dolohov, Uncle Rod, of course, and Amycus Carrow. The four of them were the bane of Professor Slughorn’s existence. He was always trying to rein them in. Bella loved luring him into a sense of false security. It thrilled her to go weeks on perfect behaviour, and then _really_ make a mess.”

Draco’s mum chuckled, but it wasn’t out of humour. Her expression was tight.

“I don’t think she was particularly close to anyone, other than what suited her for troublemaking,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have even called them all friends, more like cohorts. If Bella and Rod weren’t arranged to be married, I don’t think Bella would’ve ever bothered otherwise. She’s never been affectionate. I couldn’t even honestly tell you if she loves _me_. She’s protective over me, but I’ve never felt any sort of warmth from her. She’s always been rough around the edges. More so after Azkaban, but she hasn’t really ever changed.”

Draco listened carefully, trying to reconcile this vision of his aunt to Dagmar. They didn’t compare at all. It made him feel a little better for Dagmar’s sake, since the temptation she mentioned toward sadistic tendencies so clearly upset her.

“There’s no reason you wanted to know that?” Draco’s mum asked.

“No,” he maintained. “Just curious.”

His mum hummed. Draco wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she at least didn’t press it. With another squeeze of his shoulder, she carried on toward the dining room stairs. Draco found a hint of his appetite again. He ate on auto-pilot, distracted. When he and Dagmar discussed this, Draco would have something potentially helpful to bring to the table.

Dagmar still hadn’t responded in the messenger, when Draco went upstairs. He’d hoped to sort this out tonight so that Dagmar could stay over again. Draco would give her until tomorrow before he pressed the matter. When it came to stuff like this, Draco believed he deserved a voice in how and when they worked on it. It had made sense at the time when they agreed to default to Dagmar’s boundaries. Hers were more prevalent than Draco’s. That didn’t mean Draco didn’t have any.

Taking the night for himself allowed Draco the same amount of time to put where he stood on the situation into words. The next day, he planned for a noon departure from home. He still hadn’t heard from Dagmar, so Draco shut the messenger on his desk and headed downstairs for the fireplace.

Draco stepped out into an empty great room in a silent manor house. For all he could tell, nobody was even home. That was probably for the best when it came to her parents, in case this disagreement turned into a fight.

He headed upstairs. A draft came from underneath Dagmar’s bedroom doors. No sound came from within. Draco hovered outside the doors before biting the bullet and rapping his knuckles against the ornate wood.

An exhale sounded inside. Draco worried he’d woken her, which wouldn’t be a great start for this.

“Dagmar?” he called.

Blankets rustled, and then footsteps padded across the floor. A shadow passed under the door. When Dagmar opened it, she was in the middle of stifling a yawn. Her hair had gone flat, and Draco suspected that she hadn’t moved very far from her bed since coming home yesterday. Abashed, she leaned her temple against the closed door’s edge. She looked up at Draco from underneath her eyebrow ridge, lips thinned into a line.

Draco folded his arms. “Can I come in?”

Dagmar opened the door all the way and gestured half-heartedly into the room before her arm fell back heavily to her side. She lingered as Draco turned to face her inside.

“Did you get the message I sent?” Draco asked.

Dagmar rubbed some sleep from the corner of her eyes. “No.”

Annoyance coiled in Draco’s gut again. “I said I’m tired of you running off whenever something like this comes up. _I_ never get to run away. So why do you?”

“I was ashamed.”

“You think I wasn’t ashamed when I said—” Draco stopped himself, “—when I used a slur our first afternoon in Bergen, and you went from happy to absolutely appalled at me?”

Dagmar bunched her lips off to one side.

“If you can tell me how it’s different, I’ll hear it,” Draco prompted her when she didn’t say anything.

“Using that word is something you could help,” Dagmar said. “I don’t feel like I can help this.”

“Help _what_ , exactly?” Draco asked. “I find it really hard to believe that you could compare yourself at all to someone like my Aunt Bella. You want to talk about sadists, it doesn’t get much more extreme than her. That’s why I was so confused. You’re saying you feel like you could act anything like her at all, and yet you feel so bad about it. How can you be like that when you have such a strong conscience?”

Dagmar shrugged, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Bloody hell, _talk to me_ ,” Draco demanded. “You have to realize how absolutely silly this is, on some level. I get that you’re upset. You wouldn’t be upset at all, though, if you were truly like that. You either would’ve kept it from me or twisted it into a justification. So what’s the problem?”

“From the sounds of it, that I have a conscience.”

“Why?” Draco replied. “Because then you wouldn’t have to feel bad about it? Why’s that a problem?”

“It’s a problem for whatever’s wrong with me.”

“Good, then.” Draco waved a hand. “I’m glad you have a problem, the exact same one as everyone else. We wouldn’t have much of a civilization without any consciences, would we?”

“Nei.”

“So stop acting like it’s the end of the world,” Draco told her. “It’s not. You could’ve literally never mentioned this, and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. Why’d you tell me then, if you’re incapable of feeling bad?”

“It’s not that I’m incapable of feeling bad.”

“So what’s the problem?” Draco asked. “You’re capable of feeling bad, so you know the consequences of stuff. It’ll stop you from doing anything.”

Dagmar rubbed her left forearm. “Most of the time, ja.”

“If it takes getting cornered by three strange men before you’re pushed to your limit, I’ve got news for you, love. You probably jumped to it slower than any ordinary person would. I would’ve been throwing hexes, myself.”

Dagmar glanced up at him. “Ja.”

Draco studied her. “Anything at all you’d like to say?”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar replied. “I’ve always tried to ignore it. Pretend like it didn’t exist. Talking about it makes it real, and that’s scary to me.”

“Maybe it’ll seem less scary now,” Draco suggested. “It’s like saying the Dark Lord’s name. When you say it, he doesn’t seem so scary, does he?”

“Wouldn’t know.” Dagmar shrugged. “But you’re probably right.”

Hearing that didn’t make Draco feel much better. There was still such a wall between them, and unless Dagmar met him halfway, Draco didn’t know how to get over it.

“I want you to trust me with this,” he tried. “I get you’re ashamed about it, and that’s fine. I just want to understand why. I don’t know how to help you if I don’t know what it is. There isn’t really such a thing as your stuff anymore. I don’t have my own stuff either. We have _our_ stuff.”

Dagmar’s eyes glistened. She looked so tired that Draco wondered if he hadn’t only woken her up, but robbed her of a real potential for sleep after a night devoid of it.

“I’m scared you’ll think it’s too much.” Her voice quivered. “I don’t want you to think I’m not worth it. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Draco replied. “Especially not over something like this. I don’t mean to play down how much this obviously bothers you, but it’s nothing to me.”

“I’m too young to have baggage like this.”

“I have baggage too,” Draco said. “At least some of our baggage is in common, right?”

Dagmar managed a smile, however fleeting.

“Can we sit or something?” Draco asked. “You almost look like you’d prefer to lay down.”

Dagmar laughed weakly. “Honestly, ja. I barely slept.”

“Me too.”

She approached Draco, shy about it, and studied him after slipping a hand into his. Even though Dagmar remained quite clammed up, Draco’s frustration dwindled now that they were back on the same team.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar said, “about all of it. I don’t want to be too much when we’ve barely even gotten started. I shouldn’t have run off like that either. It shouldn’t matter if I’m overwhelmed. It isn’t all about me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being overwhelmed. You can’t help that,” Draco replied. “I don’t like being shut out, is all.”

“I won’t do it again.”

Draco leaned in to kiss Dagmar’s temple, but she moved away. An apologetic smile crept over her.

“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve washed up,” she told him. “I could definitely use a shower after all this laying around, feeling bad about myself.”

“I didn’t want to just show up like that.” Draco shrugged. “I don’t think it’s fair I don’t get a say, though, on when we sort things out.”

Dagmar furrowed her brow. “Why don’t you get a say? This is your relationship as much as it’s mine. I shouldn’t be the only one making decisions like that.”

Draco tried to think of a time when they’d explicitly decided that to be the case. They hadn’t, but a lot of other little decisions had left that impression on him. He’d fallen into a habit of being passive for the sake of Dagmar’s comfort as she navigated her first romantic relationship. The level of intimidation she’d shown in the beginning seemed to have dwindled now, thanks to time and slowly bridging the gap in experience between them.

“I’ll shower and then we’ll talk about it?” Dagmar rubbed Draco’s arm.

“Sure.”

Dagmar smiled. “I’ll try not to take too long. Make yourself comfortable.”

She headed over to the bathroom, the door closing quietly behind her. Draco had only been here once before, so he wasn’t as familiar with her space as Dagmar was with his. He slipped his hands into his pockets and ambled toward the bed. Heimdall laid at the end, his eyes half-open. He made a noise in his throat when Draco scratched his head, then started to purr.

Draco’s fatigue caught up to him in such a sleepy atmosphere. Dagmar’s bed looked so comfortable, with a fluffy duvet and big pillows. The cross-breeze from the windows passed by it perfectly. Draco took a seat on the side Dagmar hadn’t been lying on earlier and propped one of the pillows up against the headboard. Heimdall watched Draco and, once he’d settled, meowed under his breath before coming further up the bed for more attention. His tail twitched as Draco scratched the small of his back.

The breeze on Draco’s cheek made his eyes tired. He closed them to rest, and was a little disoriented when he opened them again. Heimdall laid against his side, his chin rested on Draco’s thigh while he snoozed. The scent of Dagmar’s shampoo wafted out from the now-open bathroom door. She was on the other side of the room looking through her closet. She wore a fuzzy white robe with her hair wrapped up in a towel.

Clothes in hand, Dagmar headed back toward the bathroom. She stopped with a glance in Draco’s direction.

“I hoped I wouldn’t wake you,” she said. “You and Heimdall looked so sweet together.”

Draco rubbed his eyes. “It’s okay.”

Dagmar closed herself back in the bathroom long enough to get dressed. When she emerged again, she wore what Draco figured were closer to pyjamas than actual clothes for the day. Even though her shorts fit high, the top didn’t meet them. In his lingering fatigue, Draco had a hard time keeping his gaze away from the visible sliver of her upper stomach, especially when Dagmar had to lift her arms in order to braid her wet hair.

“I was just going to crawl in beside you.” She lowered herself onto her favoured side of the bed, and pulled her braid over her shoulder in order to finish it.

“Still could.” Draco shrugged. “Honestly, the things we need to talk about could wait until we’re both a little more rested. I feel good enough about us right now to put it off for a couple hours.”

“I do too.” Dagmar secured her braid with a tie. “I started to think in the shower it might even be better if we did. We can come at it fresh.”

Heimdall didn’t much appreciate being moved. Draco stood in order to pull the covers back for himself, but slowed when he noticed the thoughtful way Dagmar regarded him. He rose his eyebrows in question.

“I think you’ll regret wearing trousers during a kip,” Dagmar said. “It’s cool in here now, but it’ll warm up soon enough.”

“. . .Right.”

Draco didn’t really know where they were in regards to dressing or undressing in front of each other. He’d seen Dagmar in her robe earlier, and the night before last, Draco had slept only in his pants next to her. That felt different than this.

Maybe Dagmar realized that too, since she busied herself getting back under the covers. She only rolled over to face Draco once he’d joined her. Draco hadn’t been sure either about removing his shirt, although would’ve liked to. He reasoned that if he got too hot he’d take it off, but since a conversation pended about their boundaries, this didn’t seem the time to test them.

Dagmar gravitated toward him anyway, meeting Draco near the middle of the bed. She laid an arm over his middle and settled with a contented sigh against him. Her skin was so soft and cool where Draco trailed his fingertips up toward her shoulder. Her cheek was no different, nor were her lips when Draco kissed her. He wished now that they’d had their conversation already. Draco would love nothing more than to see if the exposed skin on her stomach was as soft as the rest of her.

They were too tired right now anyway, for anything to really happen. Dagmar’s reactions were slow to anything Draco did, and they both gradually tapered off in their affection. Dagmar eventually rolled over to face the other way, but rather than mark the complete end, Draco managed to slide his arm underneath her pillow while she readjusted. He held her about the shoulders as he carried on kissing and nuzzling her upper back. She ran her fingers lightly over Draco’s forearm. As Dagmar’s breathing evened out, her touch faded. Draco rested his cheek against her upper back and inhaled deeply the coconut and vanilla scented hair products she used.

The cross-breeze and sleepy atmosphere did it for Draco again. He wasn’t sure how long he slept this time, but Dagmar remained like a rock beside him. He’d gotten warm, as predicted, from a combination of too much blanket and his body heat pooling with Dagmar’s. As carefully as he could, Draco slid his sore arm out from underneath Dagmar’s pillow, then removed his shirt before resettling on his back without any blankets on top of him. Dagmar had gravitated over to his side of the bed, when Draco opened his eyes again. One of her arms laid haphazardly over his middle.

Draco’s stomach growled underneath it. He hadn’t bothered to eat yet today. Now that he was rested with pressing issues no longer on his mind, Draco was starting to feel that.

Were he in his own house, Draco would’ve headed to the kitchen for something. He tried to go back to sleep instead, but his body had had enough. Before he could get too bored laying there, Dagmar’s breathing started to get heavier with more sighs. She drifted closer to Draco yet, cozying up with her head on his shoulder. She yawned while Draco squeezed her and kissed her forehead, smiling afterward.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“Mhm.” Draco’s stomach growled again. “I don’t mean to be a rude houseguest, but I’m starving.”

Dagmar chuckled. “Me too. What’re you in the mood for?”

She headed downstairs to the kitchen to pass their requests along to the house elves. She returned with a plate full of snacks to tide them over in the meantime.

Draco helped himself to the meat, cheese, and crackers. The crisps looked good too. A strong waft of vinegar came off one when it passed by his nose, making his mouth hurt from how quickly and how much he salivated by it. He took another one in succession, his stacked cracker temporarily forgotten in his left hand.

“Good, ja?” Dagmar took one too. “I have to force myself to forget the elves will make them whenever I want.”

“I would too. Bloody hell.”

The salty crunch on top of the vinegar flavour was completely irresistible to Draco, when as hungry as he was. He had to stop himself before Dagmar didn’t get any beyond the first she’d picked. He still eyed them while taking a bite from his cracker. The flavour of the meat was different than what he expected, so it took his attention as he studied it with a furrowed brow.

“This isn’t pork,” he said.

“Reindeer,” Dagmar replied. “Don’t like it?”

“No, it’s fine. Just different.”

“That’s bread cheese too.” Dagmar took a piece of it on its own. It squeaked audibly when she bit into it.

Draco had recognized everything else on the plate as hailing from Scandinavia. He liked the brunost when he tried it in Norway, and took a piece of that next. He was almost hungry enough and feeling adventurous after eating reindeer sausage for the first time to finally give pickled herring a shot. He took an onion first from the bowl, decided the white wine vinegar marinade wasn’t bad, and then tried the smallest fillet.

He chewed thoughtfully. “I guess it’s not bad for raw fish. I thought the texture would be awful.”

“It’s a little slimey,” Dagmar admitted with a shrug and smile. “Still, kudos for trying it.”

With some food in his stomach now, Draco felt able to focus on other things. The atmosphere was pleasant enough between himself and Dagmar after their kip that Draco actually looked forward to figuring some stuff out with her.

Dagmar slowed down in eating too, now that the edge had been taken off her hunger. She moved the plate further down the bed, careful not to lose any of its contents. Heimdall eyed it. Draco took a piece of sausage to draw his attention away.

“So where should we start?” Dagmar asked. “You don’t feel like you have as much say in our relationship as I do?”

“At times,” Draco confirmed. “Like yesterday. I don’t like being shut out, and when you refuse to talk about anything, all the terms are yours.”

“I’ll do my best not to do that anymore,” Dagmar reiterated her promise. “When I feel like that, it’s really hard for me to step outside myself. If I do it and I’m not stopping on my own, don’t be afraid to call me out on it.”

“I’m a little torn, because I still want to respect that you might need time to process what’s going on.” Draco pinched some sausage off for Heimdall. “I didn’t get why you had to go home. Why, if you were upset, you didn’t want to be around me at all.”

“I have a hard time being vulnerable, especially about that.” Dagmar’s mouth worked. “I always thought it was something all purebloods must deal with, that we have this innate barbarism. It’s why we tend to think we’re better than others, why we’re drawn to people like You-Know-Who, and why there’s such a line drawn in the sand for purebloods that refuse to be seduced by that. You’re either bad or you’re not. I’ve done what I thought families like the Macmillans do. I silently acknowledge there’s something wrong with me, and I consciously stay away from anything that might tempt it. Muggles maybe aren’t like that because they’re not magical, so half-bloods and Muggle-borns don’t have such an issue with it. I thought if anyone would understand that, it would be you. No offence, and this has no bearing on how you’ve been this summer, but you’re one of the cruelest people our age that I know.”

Draco wished he could argue against that—he certainly wanted to—but that was a reputation he would carry for probably the rest of his life, no matter what restraint he’d learned.

“You said you don’t, though.” Dagmar sighed. “So to me that means I’m alone on this. Except maybe your aunt, and she’s not somebody I could ever ask for advice on how to handle this. She wouldn’t exactly be a shining example of self-control.”

“I still think you’re the best example for yourself,” Draco said. “Sure, maybe you have to think about it more than other people, but the thing is, you do. You’ve chosen not to let it control you. You’re surrounded by Death Eaters at home. Your parents are right up there with the Dark Lord. It would be so easy for you to say you want to serve him. Doing that would be the perfect way to give in to something like that. You don’t, though. You’re choosing to keep it at a distance. You’re choosing to leave the country at the end of next year. You’re choosing to go into Healing because you’d rather help people than hurt them.”

Dagmar rubbed her left forearm. “Ja, I guess.”

Draco realized something. “Does it have anything to do with why you told me you wouldn’t marry a Death Eater?”

“Partly.” Dagmar drew in a long breath, her eyes shining and shoulders stiff. She wouldn’t look at Draco. “And to be honest, it’s why I won’t have kids. I don’t want to risk passing it along, and I’m not entirely sure if I trust myself with them.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say or think about that. Was it really that serious? Or did Dagmar just treat it like it was, out of excessive caution?

“You trust yourself with animals, though?” Draco asked.

Dagmar hesitated. “Sort of. They don’t rely on you for everything like a kid does. They aren’t helpless.”

Draco ran his hand down Heimdall’s back in a mindless pet as the cat settled on his pretzeled legs. He guessed, given how sensitive Dagmar was about this whole thing, that she would’ve outrightly declined getting a new cat if it was an issue.

“I won’t hurt him.” Dagmar’s voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

“I trust you,” Draco said. “I’m just thinking. Not wanting to be at all affiliated with the Death Eaters is pretty understandable. I’m starting to see just how big this is to you, if you’re making decisions like not having kids around it.”

“I just don’t want to risk it.” Dagmar sniffled. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt somebody that had no choice but to be around me. If it’s inheritable, I don’t want anybody but me to deal with this.”

“I still respect that decision. It doesn’t really matter why you don’t want kids. You never had to justify that to me. I just worry about you, is all. I wish you wouldn’t let it eat at you like this.”

“What you said earlier about maybe feeling better after talking about it,” Dagmar said, “I do feel better that there’ll be another set of eyes on me. It’s comforting. I don’t notice it as much either, when I’m at school. It only really started getting bad after You-Know-Who came back and my dad took his mark. When I come home for holidays, being close to that is like a reminder. It’s like a temptation.”

“Then we’ll stay at Hogwarts for the holidays,” Draco suggested. “I’ll stay with you. And then when we’re done school, we’ll be gone anyway.”

“Ja.” Dagmar sighed. “This summer’s been harder than usual too, because so much of it revolved around things to do with You-Know-Who. We were raided, there was that whole thing with that Auror in Paris, and even our marriage. . .I asked my mum after you told me about the change, and she said it had something to do with him. Something about keeping their own close. I asked her if You-Know-Who wanted us to join him, and she didn’t exactly say no. And she said there are ways to serve him that don’t include getting the Dark Mark. I haven’t been able to figure out what that means.”

“Probably having pureblooded children,” Draco said. “It all kind of backfired on them, didn’t it?”

Dagmar managed a watery smile. She shifted on the bed, still being mindful of the plate of food, so that she could sit pressed up next to Draco. She laid her head on his shoulder when he put an arm around her.

“Even if I’m the only one that deals with this, it’s nice not to be totally alone,” Dagmar said.

“See what happens when you don’t run off?”

Dagmar nudged him with her shoulder.

“I’ve never really been vulnerable before this,” she said. “It’s getting better, at least.”

“I think that has something to do with me feeling kind of left out on making decisions,” Draco replied. “Remember we decided back in Bergen that you would be the one that made the first move whenever we did something new?”

Dagmar lifted her head. “Ja.”

“Things have sort of changed since then.” Draco mindlessly scratched under Heimdall’s chin. “There isn’t as much of an experience gap between us. I think we’re both a little more comfortable too.”

“Definitely,” Dagmar agreed. “Everything seemed like such a big deal back then. I still shake my head when I think about how long I put off even just kissing you. That was stupid.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. It certainly wasn’t a problem now. In honour of how much things had changed, he leaned in to her. Draco certainly didn’t take for granted after that excruciating build-up how soft and pillowy her lips were. He loved it when she touched his cheek or neck during, as if she tried to hold him there, but was too shy to be forceful about it.

“Besides,” Dagmar said when they broke apart, “you’ve proven to me this summer that you have excellent self-control. You stop when you know we’ve reached the point where I’m comfortable. I think I could trust you not to push me or pressure me into going beyond that.”

Draco shrugged, although he was happy for that. “You’re not hard to read.”

“I try not to be.” A fresh grin took Dagmar over, and her glance at Draco’s lips was certainly telling. Draco kissed her again. “I’m also tired of being the only one taking initiative. Not that it’s a problem once we’ve done something new, but I think now it’d be more exciting than intimidating if you took lead once in a while.”

“Okay.”

Dagmar kissed his lips and cheek before pulling away. She got off the bed and picked up the snack plate. “Our dinner should be ready. I’ll be right back.”

Rather unabashedly, Draco watched the swing of Dagmar’s hips as she left the room. He was excited to be unrestrained in such a way, but Draco had to be all the more careful for it. Dagmar had clear boundaries that left Draco with little room for mistake. While he thought he was good at reading her, that would be put to the test now, especially when arousal became a factor.


	26. Pure

The kip Dagmar had with Draco did most of the trick on taking care of her fatigue. By ten that evening, she was about ready to sleep again. She didn’t expect to wake up in the wee hours of the morning. It was only slightly past three.

In the interest of not rousing Draco, Dagmar took her time in carefully extracting herself from his grip. It was mildly infuriating that when she had to pee so badly, he readjusted as Dagmar was just about free. She thought it sweet too that, even in sleep, Draco just wouldn’t let go.

“All right?” he sleepily asked.

“Just need to use the loo.”

“Mm.”

He rolled over to face the other way, leaving Dagmar to do what she needed. When she came back out of the bathroom, the only audible sound was Draco’s even breathing. As Dagmar headed back toward the bed, light caught her eye. It came in from underneath her door.

Dagmar furrowed her brow. Why, at three o’clock in the morning when the manor house was otherwise silent, would there be any need for it?

She crept to the door and carefully opened it. The sconces down in the great room were lit. Dagmar stood still, holding her breath in attempt to hear anything at all.

Dagmar closed the door behind her, and crept over to the railing that looked down to the great room. Nobody was around.

Just as Dagmar tensed her body, intent to push off from the railing, a door opened downstairs. The faint whisper of voices followed briefly out of the drawing room. The Silencing Charm cast over it went back into effect once whoever had exited shut the door. A single set of footsteps carried toward the great room. It didn’t surprise Dagmar at all to see someone in a black robe, although it annoyed her. After all the bollocks her family went through this summer because of You-Know-Who, they were still conducting Death Eater business here?

The Death Eater stopped shy of the fireplace. Dagmar herself had lingered for too long. She turned to return to her room and froze, ice overtaking her veins and stealing the breath out of her when she came face to face with the very same robed figure.

A giggle, shrill yet quiet, came from underneath the hood. “What’re you doing out of bed, child?”

The small of Dagmar’s back pressed against the railing in her attempt to retreat as Bellatrix stepped forward. Dagmar only wished she could mistake those glinting eyes.

They vanished with a sound like the swish of a cloak. Dagmar blinked, then started when Bellatrix’s voice carried up again from down below.

“Ta ta,” she bid Dagmar in the same teasing tone. She took some floo powder off the mantle and disappeared in an emerald flash.

The manor house fell eerily quiet again. Before someone else could emerge or otherwise notice Dagmar, she headed back to her room. Draco hadn’t budged at all in her absence, as if the entire thing hadn’t even happened. After laying back down and beginning to drift off, Dagmar wondered if it even had.

She didn’t feel any more sure about it when she woke up. It was particularly hard to be disturbed about what may or may not have been real when Draco was in such a cuddly mood. Dagmar certainly couldn’t feel vulnerable about anything beyond this bed while wrapped up in his arms, with her cheek against his chest.

“I think I’m caught up in sleep,” Draco said. “I didn’t wake up at all.”

“Nei?”

Dagmar had thought otherwise, but that was good then. Maybe she hadn’t actually run into Draco’s aunt. They’d been talking about her yesterday, after all, and it only made sense that she remain in Dagmar’s subconscious. As well, Dagmar had never actually met Bellatrix before. The closest she’d come was seeing her face in the Wanted posters around Hogsmeade after her escape from Azkaban. What were the chances that Dagmar run into her in the middle of the night in her own home?

“You?” Draco replied.

“To nip into the loo once, but that was it.”

Draco nodded, but it didn’t seem to spark any memory in him of momentarily rousing to ask what she was up to. Comforted, Dagmar resettled against him and lightly scratched his back. She was still mad at her parents from the dream for conducting Death Eater business in their manor—or at least inviting Bellatrix Lestrange here. That part of her subconscious probably just tapped into Dagmar’s lingering anger for how things had gone this summer, and how absolutely none of it would’ve happened at all if they hadn’t tangled themselves up with some dark wizard’s attempt at a power-grab.

“Hey.” Dagmar lifted her head again. “What would you think about going back to your manor?”

“By myself, or. . ?”

Dagmar nudged him in response to his smirk. “I don’t really want to be here.”

“No?”

Dagmar shook her head. “When we came home after the Ministry finished their sweep, my mum didn’t even hardly care. Did I tell you that? I’m watching her pick up the pieces of our lives, and she acted like the consequences of what they do for him meant nothing. And then there was everything that happened in Paris with the French Ministry. My dad, a Death Eater, sitting in the same room as the Auror department head. All Marigot had to do was ask to see his forearm to check for the mark. You and I only had to slip up in our messengers—which, by the way, I’ve yet had chance to mention, Marigot read everything.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“It’s just brought me uncomfortably close to their business,” Dagmar said. “For that, I’m looking forward to getting back to school. In the meantime, I could at least get out of here if it’s an option.”

“It is.” Draco rubbed her arm. “You’re always welcome at my place.”

“I would normally hate to invite myself over. . .” Dagmar paused to kiss him, “but I think you can see I’ve had about enough. It’s taken a toll on me.”

Draco nodded. “Backing up a bit, what happened with the messengers? I thought messages deleted forever when we struck them out.”

“I thought so too.” Dagmar rolled onto her back. “She tapped it with her wand, and they were all there. The salesman never mentioned that as a feature.”

“They’re not so handy for secret-keeping then, are they?” Draco ran his fingers back through his hair. “That _is_ lucky we didn’t mention anything about what our parents do.”

“I meant to bring up that we should keep it that way,” Dagmar said. “If we ever have to talk about that, we ought to do it in-person. Hopefully, we won’t have too much to say once we’re back at Hogwarts. I hope we won’t, anyway.”

“Maybe about Crabbe and Goyle.” Draco’s gaze slid back to Dagmar. “I’m still not sure what to think about that.”

“Me neither.” Dagmar toyed with the end of her plait. “It won’t affect me as much as it might affect you, though. I wasn’t mates with them.”

“It’s weird.” Draco furrowed his brow. “I wouldn’t say I was close to them on a personal level. We just hung out as. . .”

“Cohorts?” Dagmar suggested with a new nudge. Her smile faded when a weird look came over Draco. “What?”

“Ah, nothing,” he said, but then seemed to rethink it. “Just something my mum said, day before yesterday. I asked her about Aunt Bella, what she was like growing up, to try and get an idea of where your head was at. She said Aunt Bella didn’t really have friends. She had cohorts, and all of them wound up Death Eaters.”

Up until this summer, Dagmar would’ve said that Draco was well on his way to following his aunt’s footsteps. Draco wouldn’t have those cohorts anymore. Or. . .

“So what’re you going to do then, about Crabbe and Goyle?” Dagmar asked. “My mum asked me if I ever affiliated with them at school, then suggested I don’t. Your father did the same?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, I guess it won’t matter now. I can’t imagine Crabbe and Goyle are feeling particularly warm about joining the Death Eaters, if the Dark Lord has their fathers on the run. I don’t even think the Dark Lord would let them join anyway, now. And if _I_ don’t intend to, then there’s no point doing what my father suggested.”

“Except that if they’re considered enemies of You-Know-Who and you’ve been warned not to affiliate with them, then it’s pretty clear where you stand on things if you do.”

Draco bunched his lips to one side, humming in thought. “I guess it all depends on how closely you want to toe that line.”

“I’d rather stay as far away from it as we can, but if it means you lose a couple good mates, then we’d just have to figure it out.”

“We’ll see what happens. We’re going to have to be careful this year. We’re both going to be of-age, and I have no doubt that for me personally, Potter’s going to think I’m coming back in September with the Dark Mark.”

Dagmar snorted, even though it certainly wasn’t funny. Potter had every right to be paranoid, considering the amount of times he’d faced You-Know-Who. As uncomfortably close to You-Know-Who as Dagmar was, she herself had never actually laid eyes on him or crossed his path. She didn’t discount the idea she may have been in the same building as him, although she couldn’t be completely certain.

“Oh well,” Dagmar said. “I’m sure Potter will think that. It’s not like he’s right, or that you have anything up your sleeve—”

“Other than stomping his arse at Quidditch.”

Dagmar ran an affectionate thumb over Draco’s cheek, laughing again. “Do _not_ tell me you’re going to use his paranoia to your advantage.”

“Why not?” Draco shrugged.

“That’s so slimey.”

“All’s fair on the field.”

All Dagmar could do was shake her head and roll her eyes. Some habits died harder than others, she supposed. When she leaned in to kiss Draco, she pushed his jaw to the side so that she got his cheek instead.

“Let’s get going,” she told him. “If I’m heading straight from your place in the morning to the Ministry, is it all right if I use your shower?”

“Go right ahead.”

Draco dressed while Dagmar grabbed a bag and some clothes out of her closet. Dagmar brought it all over to the end of the bed to pack. When she covertly eyed Draco, it both endeared and amused her that his own gaze was so stuck to her exposed midriff that he didn’t even notice her looking.

Dagmar headed to the bathroom next to pack up some toiletries. Draco had finished dressing by then, so he sat on the bed beside her bag. Yet again when Dagmar glanced at him, his gaze was fixed.

“What?” she asked.

Draco’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

Face warm, Dagmar could only grin. She forgot her bag for the moment, and moved to stand between Draco’s legs. Although now he maintained eye contact with her, Dagmar could tell it was difficult. She found it more flattering than uncomfortable at this point, which was the majority of reason why she was just as ready as Draco to reestablish their relationship’s boundaries. Dagmar liked to feel attractive to Draco. She wanted to see the effect she had on him, rather than force him to suppress or hide it. At this point, now that she wasn’t so new to the whole thing, Draco ought have the same freedom that Dagmar did. He’d certainly earned her trust toward it.

The sheepishness in Draco’s expression to have been caught bled away as he ran his hands up over her hips. Dagmar encouraged him by mirroring the motion on his shoulders, grinning anew when he looked up. Rather than return it and join Dagmar in her playful mood, Draco remained rather serious. His gaze darted about, traveling over her again.

He met Dagmar’s eye again when she laid her hands lightly on top of his. Draco perhaps couldn’t tell what she meant by it, since it wasn’t meant as discouraging, and Dagmar didn’t really know what she tried to convey either. She wanted him to touch her, but watching Draco’s neutral mask dissolve away was a little overwhelming. And yet, at the same time, Dagmar wanted to see the desire behind it. She _needed_ to. If she could know just how strongly it ran within Draco, Dagmar would have a gauge on how acceptable it was on her part.

Draco’s touch stalled and his eyes widened as Dagmar climbed up onto the bed to straddle him. Being closer helped Dagmar feel less on display since Draco couldn’t see as much of her now, but it served dual purpose in further disarming him. His expression, while soft, was critical. Dagmar balanced herself on his shoulders and leaned down. She stalled when their noses touched, pulling back when he tilted his jaw upward. Only when his eyes cracked open did Dagmar take his bottom lip between hers.

It drew a long exhale through Draco’s nose, and his hands slid back down over her hips. His nails lightly ran over Dagmar’s bare thighs, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Dagmar still didn’t know what exactly her intention was. It lingered in the back of her mind as a hanging question. She didn’t want to lead Draco on, or to tease him. At the same time, she wanted Draco. Dagmar’s body heated in waves as Draco kissed and touched her, lapping up against her core, and she was almost left uncomfortable by swelling and throbbing. She couldn’t imagine it was any different for Draco. She’d glimpsed a bulge in his lap before, for much less than this.

She stiffened a little when she settled on his thighs. Dagmar could feel him poking her. Draco exhaled again, hard and sudden enough that their kiss broke. He searched her, still uncertain.

Dagmar wet her lips. “You’ll have to show me—”

She jumped at a noise behind her. Somehow, through all the arousal that fogged Dagmar’s brain, she registered a knock at the door. That couldn’t have really happened. Not now.

It did again. “Dagmar?”

It was her mum. Instantly irritated, Dagmar leapt up and gestured Draco toward the bathroom. He skirted off. Dagmar had no idea how to hide that she’d been up to something, even if her mum didn’t actually see Draco in her room. She was flushed, particular in the cheeks, and no matter how passive of an expression Dagmar assumed, she couldn’t completely erase that she was flustered. Her shirt was at least dark enough to not make how hard her nipples were glaringly obvious.

“Coming,” she said when her mum knocked again.

Despite Dagmar’s attempts to act casual, tendrils of shame prodded at her as her mum’s critical gaze took in her appearance.

“I’m trying to figure out what the plan is for tomorrow,” she said.

Dagmar blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Your birthday.”

“Oh. . .” Dagmar leaned against the door. “I didn’t know you wanted to do anything. I planned on spending it with Draco.”

Her mum frowned and folded her arms. “Why wouldn’t your dad and I want to do anything with you?”

Dagmar shrugged. “Reckoned you’d still be mad about Nice.”

Rather than address it, Dagmar’s mum just waved a hand. “I was thinking about inviting the Malfoys over for dinner. We could eat out in the garden.”

“Depends what Draco and I are doing,” Dagmar replied. “I’m just heading to his place. He might have something in mind I don’t know about yet.”

“Oh, he isn’t here?”

Regardless of whether or not Dagmar recovered before her embarrassment could show, her cheeks still glowed warm.

Her mum smiled, teasing. “I was your age once too, you know. You’ll do what you want, but I hope you’re careful.”

If they weren’t speaking Norwegian and Draco could understand—if he could even hear from the bathroom—Dagmar would’ve been ready to close the door on her mum.

“I’m not—” Dagmar started. “ _We’re_ not.”

“Okay, well, when you are, then.”

“Is that really something you came up here to say?” Dagmar asked.

“Nei, but apparently it wouldn’t hurt to at least make sure you’re thinking about that.” Her mum pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t make me a grandmother at thirty-five, ja?”

“Don’t worry,” Dagmar replied. “If I’m going to get knocked up, I’ll wait until at least November so that I can have the baby after I’m done school. You’ll have another birthday by then.”

Her mum snorted, which made Dagmar smile.

“Send me an owl then, once you and Draco make your plans,” her mum said. “I’ll work around whatever you two are doing.”

Dagmar’s agreement ended the conversation. She closed her bedroom door and took a deep breath in attempt to pivot back to where her head and body had been before her mum knocked. A dull ache set in at her core to have been so wound up with no fruition. Draco peered out of the bathroom before emerging. Judging by the disappointed look on his face, he’d lost it too.

“What did she want?” he asked.

“Asking about tomorrow,” Dagmar said as she zipped up her bag. “I said I’d talk to you, and then send her an owl from your place.”

Draco nodded. He lingered awkwardly beside Dagmar, mirroring exactly how she felt. If her mother hadn’t interrupted them, Dagmar would’ve followed through on what she’d started. She had no idea how Draco looked so relaxed despite the irritation to have been interrupted during such an exhilarating moment.

Dagmar ran a hand down his arm. “Come on.”

She hadn’t thought about it, but whether or not she’d actually confirmed to her mum that Draco was here wouldn’t matter if she spotted him and Dagmar leaving. Thankfully—maybe because her mum wanted to spare them any further potential embarrassment—the manor house came up empty between Dagmar’s room and the fireplace. The same was so at Malfoy Manor, before Dagmar dropped her night bag on the chair by Draco’s desk. Draco closed his bedroom door and let Heimdall jump down onto the floor. He’d tolerated traveling by floo well enough for the short journey to leave his basket behind.

Dagmar laid down on Draco’s bed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” He dropped down beside her.

“Do you use birth control?”

“Natalise Potion,” Draco said with a nod. “Just a few drops, and you’re good for the day.”

“Where do you get it, exactly?”

“You can buy it in Diagon Alley.” Draco leaned back against the headboard. “Madam Pomfrey gives it out for free too, no questions asked.”

Dagmar snorted. “I imagine that’s preferable to delivering babies in the hospital wing.”

“Yep.”

“You take it now, then?”

“I haven’t bothered since the beginning of summer.” Draco shrugged half-heartedly, one end of his mouth pulling up toward a smirk. “Didn’t think I’d need it for a while.”

“I didn’t think about it,” Dagmar admitted. “I guess now that we’re getting close. . .”

How close to it were they, though? Even if Dagmar wanted it, that didn’t mean she had any idea what she was doing. What if her mother hadn’t interrupted them earlier, Dagmar threw caution to the wind, and Draco wound up inside her? How stupid would she feel when she’d been the one to stipulate they not have children, and then by the end of summer, she was pregnant?

“I’m starting to feel the gap in our experience again,” she said. “And I’m sure you know how much I like to be ignorant about anything.”

Draco chuckled. “You mean you haven’t studied this to death?”

“Nope.” Dagmar laid flat on her back. “Didn’t know the test was coming so soon.”

“You must at least be comfortable with your own body, yeah?”

“Mm. . .” Dagmar waved her hand in a so-so motion. “I mean, I know where everything is, but I haven’t like. . .I guess I’m not very exploratory? I do what I have to basically just to get off. Nothing else really does it for me, when I’m alone. I definitely underestimated what the smallest touch from someone else can do.”

“It’s like trying to tickle yourself.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed with a nod. “So when it comes to _me_ , I don’t even think I have the upper hand. You might know more than me about the female body just because you’ve shagged on the regular in the past.”

“Experience is overrated if it isn’t productive. I still remember what it was like to be where you are. It took months before I even realized girls can enjoy it. Even longer, to discover the clit.”

Unable to help herself, Dagmar giggled, cheeks warm. Draco’s admission toward maybe not being the greatest lover drew her closer to his side.

Draco’s smile faltered. “I feel bad, though. Looking back, Pansy didn’t enjoy it then. She basically just tolerated it to make me happy.”

“How old were you when you started, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The summer before fourth year,” Draco replied. “So I guess I would’ve just turned fourteen.”

“Oh, wow. I hadn’t even accidentally given myself my first orgasm, yet.”

Dagmar expected Draco to laugh, for she’d intended such a lame truth as a joke. If it wasn’t funny, she didn’t know what else it could be, other than pitiful. Embarrassed, Dagmar lolled her head toward Draco to see what kind of reaction she’d incurred. A fond smile had come over Draco.

“What?” Dagmar nudged his knee with hers.

“I’ve enjoyed watching you come into your own, is all,” Draco said. “When my mum first told me about the change in arrangements, I didn’t see you as a sexual person at all. I couldn’t see us snogging. Didn’t even think you’d ever touch me.”

“Ja, I didn’t have any experience at all until this summer.” Dagmar rolled onto her side, facing Draco. “It’s been a ride.”

A thoughtful look overcame Draco. “It has been.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“It’s been different for me too,” Draco said after a moment. “I try really hard not to compare you and Pansy because you’re both very different people, but I’m different with each of you, too. I feel closer to you, and that changes things. It’s like you said. I underestimated what someone else can do to me.”

Considering what Draco did to Dagmar recently, it warmed her inside to know she had a similar effect on him. She pulled him down toward her. Their lips had hardly touched in the careful way she instigated when her blood rediscovered its earlier heaviness. Surely they couldn’t be interrupted twice?

Dagmar couldn’t really tell where Draco’s head was with it. He didn’t seem to be following her there, to the point where he pulled away as Dagmar touched his stomach.

“Er, full disclosure.” Draco’s cheeks tinged pink. “I had a wank while you were talking to your mum.”

“Oh.” Dagmar couldn’t help but grin. Even if she was mildly disappointed that Draco had taken the matter literally into his own hands, it fed into her arousal. She couldn’t blame him. If she’d had the opportunity, Dagmar would’ve done the exact same thing. “So what now, then?”

“It’ll just take me a little longer to come back around, is all,” Draco said.

“Do you think you will?”

“Yeah.” Draco smirked. “Honestly, it might have been for the best. I’ll be able to focus better. We can take our time.”

“I won’t.” Dagmar rubbed his shoulder. “I don’t think I could get more miserable if I tried.”

“Then just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Dagmar was wrong—she _could_ get more miserable. Her body gave a hearty throb at the barest thought toward Draco’s intentions. She couldn’t even feel nervous as Draco pressed her down against the bed. Dagmar trusted him to know what he was doing, not that she would be hard to figure out at the moment.

Regardless, she tensed when his fingers slipped past the waistband of her shorts. Draco stopped, studying her.

Dagmar loosened the grip she’d taken of his shoulder. “Sorry. Didn’t expect you just to go for it.”

“I figured at this point—”

“Nei, you’re right,” Dagmar told him. She relaxed her body with an exhale. “It’s just new.”

Dagmar grew antsy enough about Draco looking at her that she pulled him closer for a kiss. Neither of them were focused on it. Dagmar was tuned in tightly to Draco’s fingers passing over her lower stomach, and he of course was searching blind other than what instinct and muscle memory provided. Dagmar had to keep herself in check against clutching his shoulder again. She didn’t even know why she was nervous when she wanted it so badly.

Draco passed the band on her knickers just as easily. Dagmar inhaled involuntarily through her nose when his finger slid purposefully over her clit. Were it not such a relief to finally be touched, she might feel embarrassed about just how wet all the attention and anticipation had made her. Dagmar was almost made numb by it, but the mere idea that Draco was the one to touch her rather than herself helped her body overcome that.

Her breathing got too ragged to keep on kissing Draco. He moved instead to her neck. That always heightened Dagmar’s senses anyway, but coupled with his hand between her legs, it spread gooseflesh over her torso and up her scalp. Dagmar’s lips fell apart as she watched Draco’s hand move against the fabric of her shorts below.

She couldn’t help but go with Draco’s rhythm. Dagmar knew she wouldn’t last much longer when, rather than matching him, he matched her. Her thighs tensed and, though she tried to stay quiet, a moan cut through her ragged breathing as endorphins flushed her body. She squeezed Draco’s face out of where he’d wound up by her ear, and pressed their lips back together as she rode it out.

Eventually, she trembled not out of pleasure but overstimulation. She squeezed Draco’s arm with a breathy chuckle. “Okay, I can’t take anymore.”

He took his hand back, grinning as Dagmar rolled onto her side to lay flush with him. Aside from putting a leg over his waist, Dagmar was too content to do anything else for the moment. She closed her eyes as Draco scratched her back.

“Well, that was lovely,” she said when her senses returned a bit.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“Mhm.” Dagmar’s touch trailed down Draco’s abdomen much the same way he’d done to her, but he wasn’t shy about holding her eye like she was, when the shoe was on the other foot.

His gaze softened when Dagmar rested her hand lightly on the freshest emergence of his arousal.

“You might have to show me what to do,” Dagmar said. “I’ve never seen one, let alone touched one.”

Draco chuckled. “They’re pretty easy to figure out.”

“Okay.”

Feeling encouraged, plus having a hard time feeling nervous in the blissful wake of orgasm, Dagmar pushed on Draco’s hip to encourage him to lay on his back. He moved as he needed to for her to pull his trousers down.

Dagmar’s heart rate picked up from anticipation to see the last part of Draco’s body that remained a mystery. The light hairs that trailed up to his navel led to more, then Dagmar’s eyes widened as the base of him appeared. Thanks to some over-sharing on her friends’ part, she at least expected everything to spring free once Draco’s pants were far enough down.

Well. . .everything was right there. Dagmar took for granted that her bits were all inside. She couldn’t fully suppress a smile when she recalled something Ginny once said, about how some penises looked like they had a little jumper. She was right.

“It’s usually either really good or really bad when a girl looks at you like that,” Draco said.

Dagmar pulled her gaze away. She hadn’t realized she was staring. “Just not really sure what I thought the big deal was, now I’m here.”

Hopefully she hadn’t made him self-conscious by it. He didn’t make any motion to hide himself, although Dagmar understood if her analyzing stare left him uncertain. She laid back down beside him, intent to assuage any feelings like that with a return to tenderness. Draco relaxed a lot easier than Dagmar had, but he lost focus when Dagmar’s touch roamed down his stomach. His shirt had ridden up, and now Dagmar wished he was fully undressed. For her it had seemed fine that Draco just slip a hand in underneath her clothes, but it was a little different for him.

Dagmar ran her fingers lightly over him, trying to learn without looking. The skin was soft, somewhat loose and wrinkly in a good way. There was even a little wetness where the foreskin continued to hide the head. It only took a couple trying strokes for it to grow fully taut and the head to peek out. Draco swelled in her hand to the point Dagmar was sure she felt his heartbeat.

“Like that?” Dagmar asked. “Should I have a wetter hand, or. . .?”

“What’s there is probably fine.” Draco wet his lips. “You mostly just let the skin do the work.”

Dagmar saw what he meant. It slid easily over everything else. She found it fascinating to watch. In the back of her mind she registered that Draco’s breathing lengthened out and grew heavier, but Dagmar’s focus only broke when Draco rested a hand on hers.

“All right?” she asked.

He nodded. “Just—er, more like this.”

Dagmar squeezed slightly on her upstroke, and took care to run her palm more over the head. To be corrected didn’t bother Dagmar. To the contrary, the shift in Draco pleased her. It was a nice change to not be the most vulnerable person in the room. Lost as he was in what Dagmar did, he relied on her to carry him through. Dagmar kept her kisses light whenever their lips happened to meet.

A thought occurred to her. “What do I do when you cum? I don’t want to make a mess.”

“There probably won’t be much after earlier.” Draco remained distracted. “Just stop it with your hand.”

“‘Kay.”

Dagmar was having a hard time deciding where to focus. She didn’t feel confident enough in her ability to jerk Draco off to go on autopilot. Draco demanded her attention elsewhere, though, between the blissful expression on his face, and then inclination to keep snogging during. Probably because he’d wanked earlier, Dagmar noticed it definitely took longer now than she had. So long as it wasn’t because she bored him, she didn’t mind.

Draco seemed to be enjoying himself, and eventually signs started to point toward the end. His kissing grew sloppy with distraction, his need to breathe kept them apart more than together, and his hips started to move beyond the rhythm Dagmar had set. She matched him, which made his mouth fall open as their foreheads rested against each other.

“Are you close?” Dagmar asked.

Draco nodded, but Dagmar felt comfortable gauging that without his confirmation. Pre-cum kept her hand slick, and it would have to hurt if he got any harder. With a groan, he moved his forehead to her shoulder instead, sending hot breath through the material of her shirt. Dagmar took the opportunity to focus on making his orgasm as good as hers had been. A couple pulses filled her palm with cum. She didn’t want to stop since he was still enjoying himself, so Dagmar shrugged off the idea of a mess and just went with it.

One last heavy exhale led Draco to push her hand away. He’d started to go soft anyway, and with two orgasms down for the day, she didn’t think Draco could accept too much else from her. The rest of his body went limp too.

Dagmar kissed his temple. “Would you be offended if I went and cleaned up?”

“Not at all,” he managed in a dream-like tone.

Being careful not to let anything drip out of her hand, Dagmar scooted to the end of the bed and headed for Draco’s bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror while washing her hands. On this side of—well, Dagmar wasn’t completely sure if this counted as sex, even though it was still a very intimate act—she didn’t feel any different. Of course, she’d enjoyed herself and she was still warm inside to have shared something so personal with Draco, but she didn’t feel as though anything massive had shifted inside her.

Draco’s trousers laid in a heap on the floor beside his bed, his shirt on top of them. He himself remained on top of the blankets still, his ankles crossed and fingers folded over his stomach. His head lolled toward her on the pillow. Dagmar giggled at how heavy his eyelids looked.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You look about ready to sleep again.”

Draco stretched his legs. “I feel it.”

Dagmar kissed his forehead before crawling back over him to her spot. It wasn’t a hard mood to catch after she’d been so wound up through the morning, and then brought so sweetly back down to Earth. She crawled under the blankets, Draco happily following suit. An idea came to Dagmar.

“Roll over,” she told Draco when he settled facing her. Although he furrowed his brow, he did as he was told. It was fresh in Dagmar’s mind how secure and peaceful she felt when he held her like that during peak fatigue, and she wanted to share it. Draco started to relax into being spooned when Dagmar peppered kisses along his upper back. He rested a hand overtop the one Dagmar splayed on his chest.

“You’re making it hard to stay awake,” he told her.

“That’s the point, hjertet mitt.”


	27. Of-Age

Draco’s kip was short, since he didn’t actually need anymore sleep. It only helped him come back around from something that had sapped so much of his physical and emotional energy.

He kicked the blankets off, hot. Dagmar still slept beside him. She laid on her back, her stomach gently rising and falling with her breath. Draco had to resist touching her. He didn’t want to wake her up prematurely.

Draco had a book on his bedside table that he could read in the meantime. He could hardly make it through a single paragraph without peering over at Dagmar again. Short curly hairs that had escaped her ponytail framed her face, and her lips were slightly parted. It always enchanted Draco just how peaceful she looked in sleep.

Her breaths grew longer. Draco prepared to wake her up if she was going into a nightmare, but she only stretched before sighing. The next time Draco looked at her, her eyes were cracked open. She returned his smile, eyes closing again when Draco pushed some of the little hairs off her face.

Her eyes snapped open. “I forgot to send an owl to my mum.”

“Right.” It slipped Draco’s mind too. “Anything in particular you wanted to do tomorrow?”

Dagmar bunched her lips to one side, thinking. “Not sure. I’m definitely holidayed out, and I need the last two weeks of summer to focus on studying.”

“What about one night away?” Draco suggested. “We could go to Bergen.”

“Hm.” The temptation was clear. “I’d never say no to that.”

Draco rested a hand on Dagmar’s thigh. “All right. That’s what we’ll do, then.”

Dagmar slipped off the bed to send Ulysses with a note to her mum. The afternoon was already advancing, and Draco once again started to feel the lack of food in his body. He normally adhered to a much stricter schedule than he had been lately. In a way, it was nice. Most of Draco’s summer so far had revolved around something. He hadn’t much chance to just lose track of time. When he first got home from school, he’d looked forward to that. Of course, he’d never complain about how the last seven weeks went, but lazing around studying with Dagmar and snacking on whatever the house elves came up with in the kitchen was an ideal way to spend the rest of the day.

Even though Dagmar had to be at the Ministry the next morning for nine o’clock to do her apparation test, Draco stayed up with her intent for midnight.

“Do you feel when the Trace is lifted off you?” Dagmar asked.

“Not sure.” Draco ran his fingertips lightly down her arm. “My birthday was on a Thursday, so I was asleep when midnight hit.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The last fifteen minutes passed slowly, since Draco and Dagmar kept a closer eye on the clock. When it struck twelve, Dagmar just shrugged. She waited five more minutes before daring to try a charm. Nothing prohibitory came of her Wand-Lighting Charm.

“Guess I’m officially of-age,” she said. “Finally.”

They went to sleep after that. Draco expected that he’d wake up along with her. He was alone in the bed, though. The familiar scent of Dagmar’s shampoo wafted out of the open bathroom door, and she herself rustled on the other side of the room. Draco propped himself up on one elbow. She’d dressed as far as her bra and knickers, and was digging in her bag.

“Morning,” he said.

Dagmar stood up straight and looked over her shoulder. “Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying not to.”

“Not sure.” Draco shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I was hoping to wish you luck before you left.”

Getting to see her at a new level of undress was just a bonus. Draco did his best not to be too blatant as Dagmar approached the bedside, but his gaze did wander a bit before she stooped to kiss him.

“I hopefully shouldn’t need any luck,” she said. “I’ll just be glad to get it over with.”

She headed back into the bathroom to finish getting ready. When she emerged, her hair was no longer wet, her eyes stood out more with some make up, and she’d pulled on a yellow dress. Draco watched her again as she put on some sandals. It’d be nice if she could just come back to bed.

The clock moved past eight-thirty. Dagmar leaned over Draco to kiss his lips, then forehead. “See you in a little while.”

Draco had to suppress the urge to pull her down on top of him. He compromised with a run of his hand over her backside. “Yep.”

Dagmar chuckled. “You’re terrible.”

She didn’t move away, though, lingering for more. Eventually she had to go, which disappointed Draco. Oh well. Once she got back, they would have the day and night to themselves in Bergen.

Draco wasn’t aware he dozed off until a loud crack startled him awake. Like a shot, Heimdall flew off the bed and skittered out onto the balcony. Draco blinked at Dagmar, still processing.

“I passed,” she said.

“Nice.”

She smiled. “You didn’t move very far while I was gone.”

Draco was certainly awake enough now to make a move. He headed into the bathroom to get ready for the day. When Draco emerged following his shower, Dagmar laid on her back on the bed, her knees bridged. Between the curve of her mostly-exposed thighs and then the outline of her breasts at the top of her dress, Draco almost didn’t notice Heimdall laid half over her stomach.

“I wonder if my mum would mind Heimr while we’re gone,” Dagmar mused.

“He can just stay here,” Draco said. “If we put his basket outside, I’m sure he wouldn’t wander much further than the garden. He’d have a lot to entertain himself with. And eat.”

Dagmar lolled her head toward Draco. “Would your parents mind?”

“I honestly don’t even think they’d notice if we didn’t tell them.”

“Would you still? Just in case.”

“Mhm.”

Try as he might, Draco couldn’t resist Dagmar any longer. He crawled onto the bed, earning a glance over of his own from Dagmar before she split into an amused grin about Heimdall making an indignant noise. He stretched and moved along.

“Even the cat knows,” Dagmar said as Draco’s hand came to rest in the smallest part of her waist.

Draco chuckled with her before leaning down for a kiss. Dagmar touched Draco’s cheek the way he liked it, gently stroking with her thumb. Draco hadn’t really ever considered himself somebody that liked such a soft treatment, but he supposed growing so comfortable with Dagmar had something to do with it.

He sighed contentedly as he looked down at Dagmar. Her skin had darkened nicely this summer, bringing out her big blue eyes well enough without mascara and pencil. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and her lips at rest stayed so kissable when Draco wasn’t currently attached to them.

“Merlin, you gorgeous thing,” he said.

If Dagmar wasn’t already beautiful, that did it. Her eyes crinkled with a fresh grin and colour seeped in underneath her freckles.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re not so bad-looking yourself, you know.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Maybe you’ve noticed, maybe you haven’t. . .” Dagmar’s smile turned coy, “but I’m a lot better at sneaking glances than you are.”

“Don’t you think we’re past that point?” Draco asked. “Sneaking glances?”

“Oh, probably.” Dagmar chuckled. “ _You’ve_ moved beyond that, for sure.”

Draco shrugged. “I can’t really help it.”

“I know.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Nei. I love it, actually.”

“Good thing, that.” Draco rolled to lay on his side beside her. “I’d hate for us to get this far, only for me to put you off.”

“Not at this point.” Dagmar shook her head, then nudged his shoulder. “You should be packing. If we don’t get serious, we might wind up not leaving at all.”

As hard as it was to pull himself away, Draco knew she was right. He was starting to crave a lot more than just being close to Dagmar, and looking at her. He wanted to slide the bottom of her dress up further than it already was—or the top down, he really wasn’t fussy. How worked up she’d been yesterday was still very fresh in Draco’s memory. He had to force the thought out of his mind in order to not make the wait for next time anymore unbearable.

He grabbed his bag out of the bottom of the closet. Going away for one night wasn’t much to pack for, especially since Draco didn’t plan on taking anything to do. He and Dagmar were more than capable of entertaining each other for that length of time, and that was the purpose of their trip anyway.

On that thought, Draco glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder before rooting around at the top of his closet for one of the bottles of Natalise Potion he’d gotten off Madam Pomfrey for the summer. They’d sat forgotten up there ever since the day he learned he wouldn’t be marrying Pansy anymore. He squeezed three drops onto his tongue. Draco had no idea when the mood might carry him and Dagmar toward sex that carried risk of pregnancy, so he thought ahead on their behalf.

Draco put it into his bag, and then doubled back to his closet after stepping out. He grabbed the second bottle and held it out to Dagmar, who had made a move to get up now that Draco was ready. She sat on the edge of his bed, brow furrowing as she accepted it.

“You were asking about it yesterday,” Draco said. “That’s what Natalise Potion looks like. It just comes with a little dropper.”

Dagmar opened and smelled it. “Is it tasteless too?”

“Yeah. It has a different texture than water, just as a heads up. It feels like it kinda coats your mouth, but it goes away in a few minutes.”

“Do we both have to take it for it to be effective?”

“Not exactly.” Now that Draco thought about it, he wasn’t sure Pansy ever had. “The first time you ever go to Madam Pomfrey, she’ll give you the whole spiel. ‘It’s less likely you’ll both forget to take it’, things like that.”

“True.” Dagmar filled the dropper. “How much do you take?”

“Three drops a day.”

Dagmar stuck her tongue out to catch them. She pulled a face afterward at the coating sensation, running her tongue up against the roof of her mouth. “I guess you get used to it, ja?”

Draco slowly nodded. “Er—just to be clear, I wasn’t implying you should take it just because I was giving you my extra bottle.”

“Why not?” Dagmar stood up and headed over to her bag. She slipped the bottle into one of its pockets. “Whenever we’re ready, I don’t want something as stupid as not having protection stop us. It wouldn’t be a bad habit to get into taking it, anyway.”

“I suppose not. I need to get back into it.”

Madam Pomfrey incorporated that into her spiel as well. There weren’t any side effects, and it was such a simple life choice compared to everything that came with accidental pregnancies. Draco had taken it to heart when his mum first told him about it. He wanted to avoid fatherhood as much as he wanted to have sex.

A cursory search of the manor house for Draco’s parents came up short. He wrote them a short note to leave on the dining room table that Heimdall was outside in the garden and could probably fend for himself, but if they could please keep an eye on him it would be much appreciated. Not that Draco’s parents knew, but Heimdall was the closest thing to a grandchild they would ever get.

Draco met back up with Dagmar in the great room. They headed first to Ramstad Manor so that Dagmar could better prepare for another night away. Draco noticed that Dagmar fell quiet when they arrived, her gaze skirting around a lot. Even up in her room, Dagmar kept her voice low if she and Draco spoke. She was quick to gather her things, and then they were off again.

They passed through London to Bergen. Draco took Dagmar’s hand in Den Sultne Jotunn’s backroom, his heart elevating to see her light up. The change in her to be back here made Draco never want to leave.

At the registration desk, Sigrid was ever the professional. Draco knew exactly how it looked between when they’d been here a month ago, and now. Draco didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about what a distant acquaintance thought they might be up to behind closed doors. Surely they were far from the first couple Sigrid had watched flourish.

Draco and Dagmar dropped their bags off in their room, headed down to the lobby to exchange some of their galleons for romer, and stepped out into Trollmannsgaten. They hadn’t gotten very far down the street when Dagmar made a noise like she’d remembered something.

“I was going to give you something when we were at my manor,” she said. “I bought you a gift forever ago the first time we went to Nice, and I never got around to giving it to you.”

Draco looked Dagmar over, comparing who he saw now to who she had been back then. It felt like ages ago, for the distance they’d come.

“I probably wouldn’t have accepted it, like the sunglasses.” Draco smirked with amusement. “What was it?”

“Just a shirt.” Dagmar shrugged. “I guess I liked buying you tacky gifts before I even had any inkling we’d wind up together.”

Their afternoon in Trollmannsgaten felt a lot to Draco like their shopping day in Nice. He and Dagmar didn’t explicitly agree to it, but Draco felt a form of competition to find the most tasteless gift they could possibly give each other. Draco was pretty certain he won based on the shrunken troll head in a jar he presented to Dagmar outside the shop.

Dagmar wrinkled her nose, but looked fascinated. “Herregud.”

“Very good?” Draco grinned, for he knew that wasn’t even close to the English translation. Dagmar scoffed in confirmation of how far off he was.

“Is it real?” she asked. While Dagmar inspected the oddly swollen little head, it bounced against the insides of the jar.

“That’s the mystery,” Draco said. “The label had ‘authentic’ in quotation marks. I asked the shopkeeper, but he wouldn’t tell me what that meant.”

“Well, it’s truly horrific.” Dagmar slipped it into her bag. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

Her bag had grown heavy through the day, since she carried Draco’s things for him as well. He offered to take it when she started adjusting more for a developing sore shoulder. The two of them doubled back to the inn to drop it off before they walked to the funicular that would take them up Mount Fløyen for dinner. Because it was a Friday, the Muggle restaurant at the top was slammed. The wizarding one wasn’t so bad—mostly full with a couple empty tables. Draco would’ve liked one by a window, but after riding the packed funicular up the mountain and then navigating through the crowds at the top, he was happy just to be able to sit down.

“I want to treat you, since it’s your birthday,” Draco said.

Dagmar pursed her lips.

“It’s your birthday,” Draco repeated. “Special occasion.” 

Their waitress handed them their menus before heading off to fetch drinks.

“I was thinking about the reindeer steak,” Dagmar hesitantly said. She looked up at Draco from the menu. “Is that okay?”

“Order what you would’ve if you were paying for yourself,” Draco told her. Even though they’d agreed to go back and forth on this (not to mention he still didn’t quite understand Dagmar’s hang-ups on money), she still evidently needed some encouragement. Rather than concern himself with the entrees, Draco scanned the appetizers. “The hors d’oeuvres platter sounds like a good starter. Wanna share one with me?”

“Sure.”

That they would both benefit from it seemed to ease Dagmar out of her concern. It probably didn’t hurt that pickled herring was listed as one of the features.

Their waitress came back with Dagmar’s coffee and the house-made berry soda that had caught Draco’s eye. He’d never tasted lingonberries or cloudberries (as far as he knew), so he was curious. Dagmar eyed the dark-red drink, carbonation lightly rising from the bottom of the glass and navigating the ice cubes. “How is that? I looked at it, but I thought I needed a perk-up more than anything else at the moment.”

“Try it.” Draco slid the drink across the table to her. Dagmar took a little sip through the straw and seemed to consider taking more before passing it back. “Have as much as you like. I can always order another one.”

“Okay.”

Draco reasoned that eventually Dagmar had to relax about sharing on his wallet. She at least started to as far as staying at his place and eating food from his manor’s kitchen. Draco would understand it more if she came from a non-wealthy family. For now he was willing to go along with it, since for the most part it didn’t arise as an issue. Other than gifts, they were as close to square as they could reckon.

Sharing their dishes helped. The appetizers arrived, a platter filled with stuffed eggs, pickled herring, gravlax canapés, cubed brunost, and caviar blini. Draco found so long as he kept conversation up that Dagmar stopped doing mental math on only eating what she designated as her half. It helped too that when their entrees arrived, Draco asked to try her steak. Dagmar in-turn asked for a bite of his chicken fricassee. Their dessert was shared as well, a platter of lefse with a variety of different fillings.

By the end of it all, Draco hardly felt able to move. He rubbed his stomach while they drank their after-dinner coffee. Walking out of the restaurant and to the overlook was a slow affair. Draco leaned heavily against the fence, trying to will his stomach to digest faster.

Dagmar wrapped her arms around one of his and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for dinner. I really enjoyed it.”

“I enjoyed it too much, I think.” Draco smiled. “You’re welcome.”

The day had started to cool off with sunset less than an hour away. The breeze felt lovely against Draco’s face. He started to feel hot again when he noticed the way Dagmar was looking at him, her gaze soft and smile adoring. Draco hadn’t been standing very far away from where he was now when he’d wished Dagmar would look at him the same way she looked at the city below.

“Can I ask you something serious?” Draco said.

“Mhm.”

“Do you see us here?” Draco stood up straight. “After we finish school, I mean. I think there’s a sentimental value for us both at this point, and since there’s a hospital and dragon reserve. . .”

Dagmar’s grin widened while Draco spoke. “I would love to live here again.”

“If we’re already planning on living abroad, we might as well aim for somewhere we’re mostly familiar with,” Draco said. “We won’t feel so homesick or out of our element. Plus, you already speak the language. I’d rather learn at least some of it ahead of time than get it all thrown at me first day on the job.”

“It definitely makes the most sense.” Dagmar moved close enough for their arms to press. “We’ll just have to focus more when we’re back in lessons. If we’re aiming for somewhere in particular, that adds a bit more pressure. I felt it when I was trying to make sure I got on at St. Mungo’s.”

“Yeah.”

That much was true, and Draco was nervous enough already to make the minimum required grades. The grades that he’d been told to aim for by Professor Snape during careers advice were the global average minimum, too. For all Draco knew, the requirements were higher in Norway since Norwegian Ridgebacks were so dangerous to work with. He was almost scared to look at what would be needed to snag an apprenticeship at Jotunheimen.

Dagmar rested her cheek against Draco’s upper arm. “I believe you’re capable of it. We’ll make it happen, if it’s what you want.”

She was right about pressure. Draco really didn’t want to disappoint Dagmar. He almost regretted putting it out there. As happy as it made her, that would be matched by its polar opposite if Draco didn’t get his act together. That was not how he wanted to start the rest of their lives out, cheating Dagmar of her favourite city in the world.

Dagmar wasn’t thinking about that, judging by her maintained good mood. For now, Draco wouldn’t ruin her birthday by rescinding his offer or getting too bogged down by pressure. He was capable of this if he applied himself. Draco just had to remember that. Tomorrow, he would start working toward it. Today, he would make sure Dagmar continued to enjoy herself and relax.

Draco’s stomach felt a lot less full by the time they rode the funicular back down the mountain. He really hadn’t wanted to walk another thirty minutes from there to the inn, feeling like he did. A vague stitch still developed in his side about halfway. If it hadn’t been downhill, Draco wasn’t sure he’d manage without having to rest.

He was still relieved when they passed through a mostly-quiet Trollmannsgaten to reach the inn. Habit from the week they’d spent there in July slowed Draco’s step in the lobby.

“Did you want to grab a drink before we turn in?” he asked.

Dagmar shook her head and then jerked it toward the stairs, smiling deviously. “Come on.”

What she clearly intended was the only thing Draco had felt missing from the day. It had taken so much self-control that afternoon not to fall into each other, and now that sense of deprivation was beginning to reemerge in Draco. His patience depleted completely when she looked at him with intent, and it only got worse when she glanced back over her shoulder on the landing. Draco’s hands shook slightly as he let them into their room.

Dagmar was much calmer in comparison. She headed for the end of the bed to sit so that she could pull her shoes off. Draco kicked his off as a second thought.

With one of her feet outstretched, Dagmar chuckled. “I’m just realizing the toll today took on me. I’m so dirty and sweaty.”

“Me too.”

Dagmar rejoined Draco where he stood, her arms snaking around his middle while they kissed.

“The bathtub is big enough for two,” she said. “What do you think?”

Draco’s first thought was that it offered the perfect opportunity to see Dagmar completely naked. The prospect made it hard to suppress excitement, especially when Dagmar’s hands ventured up the back of his shirt. Draco’s heart skipped a beat when she returned his grin, their torsos pressing before their noses touched again. Gooseflesh followed where Dagmar lightly scratched the small of Draco’s back. Not that he expected it at all today, but the idea of her nails digging in. . .

This was probably Draco’s biggest dilemma, when it came to the discrepancy in their experience. He would love nothing more than to sink into Dagmar. Draco could practically feel the press of their naked bodies, he wanted it so bad.

He needed to take a moment in order to step back away from that. Dagmar chuckled as Draco’s forehead rested on her shoulder. She kissed his temple.

“All right?” she asked.

“No.”

One of Dagmar’s hands left his back so that she could run her fingers through his hair. “You poor thing.”

Dagmar’s natural scent grew stronger when Draco closed his eyes, especially so close to her neck. It drew him in toward the sensitive skin there. If he was going to be so overwhelmed by such simple touches and the barest hint of intent, then it only suited Dagmar to match him. The way she sighed was the sweetest form of revenge he could possibly offer in this sort of situation.

A fabric belt secured Dagmar’s dress at the narrowest point of her waist. Draco tugged it loose, paying close attention to her reaction. Feeling as he did, it would be too easy to miss a cue that Dagmar was uncomfortable. She pressed in closer to him, which could probably go either way on its own, but her hands still wandered his back and her breath warmed Draco’s shoulder. Dagmar pulled far enough away to meet his gaze again. With a coquettish grin, she pulled Draco’s shirt up and off.

Loosening the belt on Dagmar’s dress had also loosened the dress around her shoulders. It fell easily to the floor with little prompt. The tips of Dagmar’s fingers slipped into the waist of Draco’s trousers, one of her thumbs running over his belt buckle. She stilled as Draco did something similar underneath the back of her bra. For all Dagmar’s forwardness, she pressed back up against Draco as it joined her dress by their feet. Draco was all right with that. With her bare chest pressed against his, he could handle not getting a good look at her right away.

Dagmar fumbled with Draco’s belt. Kissing again distracted her from the finesse of it. More so, that Draco’s touch wandered steadily closer to her chest from where he held her waist. Dagmar’s hands stopped and a gap returned between their lips as he cupped one of her breasts. It fit nicely in his hand, pleasantly heavy. Dagmar chuckled, cheeks warm.

“I’m a simple man,” Draco jested.

“Something like that.”

Dagmar gave herself enough room between them to actually see what she was doing with Draco’s trousers. While her gaze was downward, so was Draco’s.

“I can feel you staring,” Dagmar said without looking up.

“I’ll stop if you like.”

She chuckled, meeting Draco’s gaze briefly as she finally got his trousers to a point where they could join the rest of their shed clothes. Dagmar’s fingers skimmed down Draco’s arms to hook loosely with their counterparts. She led him to the bathroom. Yet again, Draco’s eye dropped as Dagmar bent over to run the taps and fix the temperature. He thought about whether or not Dagmar would take to being touched while in such a position, then shrugged it off and went for it. That she just laughed again as he groped her backside confirmed to Draco he was definitely getting better at telling where Dagmar’s boundaries laid.

Dagmar turned around in Draco’s arms when she stood straight again. She was somehow less shy about her body in the well-lit bathroom. Her giggles echoed off the walls as they touched each other, tapering off in place of a fresh grin as she placed Draco’s hands encouragingly on her breasts.

The taps running in the background were almost forgotten until Draco glimpsed the water level approaching the overflow. Dagmar turned them off, and Draco wondered if there was even a point to trying to hide that all their touching had left him turned on. Dagmar would most likely consider it a compliment to the effect she had on him, much like it fed Draco’s ego to see a blush creep from her cheeks down to her chest. Her nipples stayed hard, or at least returned to that state whenever Draco caressed them anew. He still thought it too crass just to run his fingers down between her legs in interest of seeing how wet she was. His mouth dried when Dagmar slipped her knickers off. There was indeed a damp spot on them. It almost seemed a shame to sacrifice that to the bath, for surely it would be washed away with the rest of the day’s accumulations.

Dagmar stepped into the tub and took a seat on one end. She pulled her knees up to her chest to make room for Draco. After he settled, she laid her legs across the length of his and sunk down to her chin. Draco scratched lightly at her calf under the surface.

“I could get used to this,” Draco said. “I never want this summer to end.”

“Me neither.” Dagmar sighed. “That’s what I hate about my birthday. It’s so close to the end that the last few weeks until term starts feel like the longest Sunday.”

“Mine comes like a Friday.” Draco chuckled. “Although, I guess that probably won’t ever happen again. Summers don’t mean anything as an adult.”

“Nope.”

Dagmar leaned her head back and closed her eyes. A wave of affection came over Draco.

“There’s a temptation just to skip it all,” he told Dagmar. “Just forget about going back to Hogwarts and going through all the stress of NEWT year. We could just stay here, buy a house, and live off our part of each family’s fortune.”

“Even if I know I could never consciously do it, it’s a nice thought,” Dagmar replied. “I just want it to be over. I want to start our life, especially if we do manage to wind up in Bergen.”

“It could be bearable if. . .” Draco trailed off, for the discussion about how they would handle their relationship at school had never really gone anywhere. Every time it returned to the forefront of Draco’s mind, it hurt a little bit more that Dagmar would choose her public image over him. Logically he understood, but emotionally, he just couldn’t.

“I know.” Dagmar cracked an eye. “I wish we could. It’s going to be hard enough to start sleeping apart again, let alone pretending we have nothing to do with each other.”

Draco sighed. He could already feel the loss of Dagmar’s body beside him. That most likely meant Heimdall too. Draco would be all alone again, especially if he ended up on no good terms with anyone in his dorm.

“I never told Pansy about you,” he said. “As far as she knows, you had nothing to do with me ending things. So if, say, I ended up chasing after you, she might not get suspicious.”

“She’d still be mad, though.” Dagmar idly massaged Draco’s foot, a welcome feeling after he’d spent so much of his day walking around. “It’s not going to matter how we came together. She’s going to be possessive, and she’s going to take it out on me.”

Lips pursed with dissatisfaction, Draco nodded.

“I never told Blaise about you, either,” Dagmar said. “He knows I’m still betrothed to somebody, but we never got far enough into the conversation before it derailed for your name to come up. If we make it too obvious, he might figure it out.”

“Would that necessarily be a bad thing?” Draco asked. “I mean, would it go with him like Pansy?”

“You might know better than me.” Dagmar shrugged.

“I don’t think he’d tell Pansy,” Draco thought aloud. “It could go either way with us being mates. If he’s over it by now, he might not care. If he had a clue what he’s missing out on, he might.”

Dagmar smiled warmly, her touch briefly running up Draco’s calf before returning to where she pressed her thumbs into the arch of his foot.

Her expression flickered with concern. “I hope he isn’t a problem. We focus so much on Pansy that dealing with Blaise has already blindsided me once. I didn’t think he’d react the way he did when we met up in Diagon Alley. I guess we’ll just have to play it by ear, like with everything else.”

Draco was at least hoping that, even if it’d be one-sided, he could look forward to chasing Dagmar around at Hogwarts. That way, Pansy couldn’t blame Dagmar for who Draco’s eye fell on. Dagmar’s friends in other houses would have time to adjust to the idea of them as a couple before Draco and Dagmar cautiously eased their private and public lives together.

“I wonder if it’s worth just telling Blaise,” Draco said. “Being up-front about it, I mean. For the sake of my friendship with him, I think he’d appreciate it. He’d be pissed off in the long-run if I lied to him about something like this.”

“What if he’s mad at me, though?” Dagmar’s brow wrinkled again with concern. “It would be pretty easy for him to pull Pansy aside and tell her what happened.”

“He’s not really like that. . .I don’t think.” Draco couldn’t say for certain. “I’ve never seen him broken up with.”

Dagmar made a noise of frustration and sunk further into the tub. “This sucks. There’s so much thought that has to go into it, and then we still have to pull it off. I’m almost tempted just to throw caution to the wind. Ja, maybe Pansy will torment me, but she might just do that anyway because she’ll be more miserable than usual. My friends might all ditch me, but they might cut contact anyway once you and I move away together at the end of the year. If Potter thinks you’re a Death Eater, he might think I am too, but it doesn’t matter because we’re not. Blaise could just think and feel whatever he wants about the whole thing.”

Draco knew better than to let his hopes climb too much about actually doing that. Sure enough, Dagmar heaved a fresh sigh.

“It just doesn’t work, though,” she continued. “My family is on the radar enough as it is. I don’t want to be the tipping point that puts my parents in danger. I’ve come close enough to that already.”

“Is it really your fault if they get caught?” Draco asked. “I have to think like that with my father to not go mental about it. It was his choice to be a Death Eater before I was even born. He’s made his bed, and I don’t think he’d have worked his way to be so close to the Dark Lord if he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything and anything for him.”

“Even you?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but wasn’t exactly sure what to say. So far in his life, he’d had a buffer between himself and the Dark Lord. Look at what had happened to Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers, though, after they tipped the Ministry off about Ramstad Manor. They were loyal followers. What chance would Draco have as the mere son of one?

“I guess we have no choice but to play it safe,” Draco said.

Dagmar shook her head, agreeing with him. The bathroom fell quiet under the weight of such a heavy cloud. It would always follow them around. Draco wondered if Bergen was even far enough to escape it, once they were out on their own.

“We’ll manage,” Dagmar reassured him. “We will. It might be tough at times, but it’s only a year. Then we can leave, and none of it will matter. We won’t be in a position anymore to compromise our parents. We’ll be off everybody’s radar. We can just live our life.”

Draco managed a tight smile. “I hope so.”

Dagmar readjusted on her end of the tub to sit up, then crawled up over Draco in order to kiss him. A gentler contact helped ease him a bit, at least enough for the tension in Draco’s shoulders to melt away. He tucked some loose hair behind Dagmar’s ear when she pulled back.

“I didn’t mean to bring the mood down,” she said. “I think to some degree we’re always going to have to worry about what happens. Tonight, I’d rather just get a feel for what _our_ life is going to be like.”

“Me too.”

Draco guided Dagmar closer with a finger under her chin. He couldn’t wait to be free of everything they had to deal with in the meantime. Although he wished they could have each other fully in the interim, they would just have to make do. Just because they couldn’t openly affiliate at Hogwarts didn’t mean they couldn’t at all. They would find ways.

Dagmar sat down on Draco’s lap, straddling him. That she did so when they were both naked invoked an involuntary groan from Draco. He grabbed her hips when she shifted against him.

“Sorry,” she said with a chuckle. “Are you ready to get out?”

She backed off before standing up. While Draco had calmed considerably as they bathed together, it all came rushing back to him as she stood naked in front of him. For her to cover up with a towel was an absolute shame. Draco could hardly focus on getting the one she handed him around his waist, more preoccupied as he was with how soon he could get Dagmar’s back off.

She beat him to it beside the bed, keeping her back to Draco as she dried off. Draco ran his hands up over Dagmar’s still-wet backside, smiling as she chuckled at his keenness. He just couldn’t help it, now that Dagmar grew comfortable enough to trust him. And yet, Draco still felt like he was holding himself back. That would frustrate him to the point of anxiety if he couldn’t pull her against him in fear she’d feel his arousal. Dagmar pressed back as Draco’s hands roamed her torso, focusing mostly on her stomach while occasionally wandering up over her breasts. With his mouth fixed in the crook of Dagmar’s neck, his fingers ran down over the small paunch of fat on her lower stomach. Dagmar’s spine straightened as if with a jolt when Draco slipped them between her legs.

He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear. “Lay down.”

Draco’s heart pounded a little, and he suddenly knew exactly how Dagmar had felt through everything before this. There remained some things that Draco had never done. Pansy was just too uptight, or she at least wasn’t comfortable enough beyond a certain degree of intimacy. She was fine giving—just not receiving.

Crawling up onto the bed between Dagmar’s legs altered the mood into dubious territory. She stiffened when Draco’s erection grazed her inner thigh. With a hand on his shoulder, Dagmar studied him.

“Don’t worry,” Draco reassured her. “I’m not trying to sneak anything in.”

Her features softened. “I didn’t think you would. There’s still just things I’m not used to feeling. I wondered a little what you were angling for, laying like this.”

“Going down on you, actually.”

Dagmar blinked, then a slow smile came over her as her fingertips skimmed over Draco’s shoulders.

“You look nervous. . .or something,” she added. “Usually that’s all me.”

“Never done it before.” Draco shrugged. “It can’t be that hard to figure out, but you know what it’s like when you’re doing something new.”

“Don’t I ever.”

Draco snorted and she giggled, which helped break the uncertainty that had cropped up between them. He only ever wanted to make Dagmar feel good, and it had said in the book his father gave him that this was one of the quickest and easiest ways to physically accomplish that.

He felt more confident, and Dagmar seemed to as well now that she knew what was on his mind. She probably liked not being the only vulnerable one for once. The anticipation certainly didn’t hurt. Dagmar arched her back as Draco licked, sucked, and otherwise nuzzled her breasts. He supposed in a way it was foreshadowing. There was an analogy in the book that going down on a woman was just advanced snogging. Draco had plenty of practice at that, and he liked to think he was good at it.

Even now, Dagmar inhaled sharply if Draco changed up what he did without notice. She squeezed his hand as he ran his tongue down her stomach, stopping briefly at her navel to come back up. She groaned into his mouth, her eyes glassy and nails pressing into Draco’s shoulders. All concern about his erection poking her seemed to be lost. Dagmar’s soft inner thighs felt simply divine against Draco’s sides.

Draco kept going when he reached Dagmar’s navel again. He felt the anticipation as much as she did, positively throbbing at the prospect. Draco didn’t even trust himself to take the edge off his own tension. He wouldn’t be able to stop once he started.

Any shyness Dagmar came into this with had long dissipated by the time Draco nuzzled her thighs. It was no wonder. Her flesh glistened with need. Caressing through with his fingers created another muted gasp further up the bed. When Draco circled his thumb on her clit, a tight hand closed around his free one where it held her hip.

He ran a flat tongue over her labia, trying to get a gauge for just how sensitive everything down here was. Dagmar’s grip on Draco’s hand tightened. Were it not paired with the sight of her gently heaving breasts, Draco might have wondered if she meant for him to stop or that he was doing something she didn’t really like. She squirmed slightly under him as he repeated what he’d done, making it more deliberate each time. The taste of her filled Draco’s mouth, as sweet as her scent. He nearly moaned with her as he gently sucked on her clit the way he might her bottom lip.

Draco didn’t have to worry at all about Dagmar not being clear on what she liked or didn’t like. He nearly lost feeling in his hand from how tightly she gripped it, and her hips started to move too. Draco’s arousal beat like a drum against his very soul when she asked him to finger her a little bit. She didn’t tense up at all when he slipped one in, and was eager to catch a rhythm when he pressed up against the spongy knot inside her. Her fingers ran haphazardly through Draco’s hair as she trembled.

Dagmar gasped as her pelvic floor tightened and contracted. When she pushed Draco’s head away rather than hold it in place, Dagmar laid as a spent mess on the bed. Her chest heaved anew, her eyes were half-closed, and her lips remained parted.

Draco kissed her stomach and left breast on the way back up her body. He dropped down beside her heavily, exhausted in his own way from the experience. The muscles in his mouth were pushed to their limit.

Dagmar rolled onto her side to face him. The slightest modicum of relief finally came to Draco as her hand gently closed around him. He was a little surprised that she didn’t seem too put off kissing him.

She studied him when they broke apart, then smiled. “I think I taste better on your lips.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you never tasted yourself out of curiosity?”

Draco chuckled. “Well—okay, yeah, but there are few if any circumstances I’d admit that outside of this one.”

Dagmar laughed and kissed him again. Toward the end of it, she pushed Draco to lay flat on his back. “I want to try.”

Draco didn’t really know how much longer he could stand feeling like this. The last time they’d fooled around, he’d had the luxury of already having orgasmed prior. Not so today, and he wished he could’ve had more time to watch and enjoy Dagmar figuring out how to reciprocate. Along with her mouth, stray curly hairs tickled Draco’s abdomen. He had to suppress a pitiful whine as she kissed down the underside of his shaft.

“You won’t have long,” he warned Dagmar.

“I didn’t think so.” She stroked him. “It’s okay. There’s always next time.”

Maybe if this instance of having a head between his legs wasn’t so different, Draco could’ve managed to draw himself out. Somebody new—not to mention someone that he cared so deeply about—made it next to impossible. Dagmar was perhaps overly cautious still as she learned the line where pleasure turned to discomfort, but it practically devastated Draco when she looked up at him as he ran his fingers back through her hair.

He about lost it when precum strung from the head to the tip of Dagmar’s tongue. She seemed to realize before Draco could even tap her shoulder in warning, for she stayed clear while falling into a familiar stroking rhythm. Draco’s mouth fell open soundlessly as her tongue caressed one of his balls.

Because Dagmar wasn’t paying as close of attention as she could’ve been, most of Draco’s cum hit his stomach and chest. He thought he couldn’t get any worse off post-orgasm, but it still managed to penetrate Draco’s foggy mind that Dagmar swirled her tongue over one of the medium sized droplets.

“It doesn’t taste bad,” she said when she laid beside him again.

Draco gestured weakly at the bedside table. “Would you pass me a tissue?”

Dagmar fetched one and took it upon herself to wipe him up. Draco could hardly make his lips cooperate as she kissed him again.

With a sigh, Dagmar laid her head on Draco’s shoulder. “I never would’ve guessed that was your first time doing that, if you didn’t say anything.”

“I had some help,” Draco said.

Only when Dagmar didn’t reply right away did Draco rethink what he’d said. He’d intended to show Dagmar soon the book his father had given him, but he didn’t mean to bring it up like this. Really, he probably should’ve showed her before they had any kind of sex at all.

“What kind of help?” she asked. At least for now, Dagmar just seemed curious.

“A book.” Draco shrugged. “My father gave it to me at the beginning of summer. Spared him giving me any lectures, I suppose.”

Dagmar hummed. “Didn’t realize I came with an instruction manual.”

“It’s not like that.” Draco’s heart sunk. He really didn’t want to have an argument about it right now, when they were both still a bit wrecked. “You’re welcome to read it if you like.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t seem mad, although not entirely happy either. Draco continued stroking her hair in wait of where she landed between those two polarities.

“My gut instinct is to trust you, but I’m not totally sure,” she said. “I’ll see how I feel after reading it. I don’t like even the merest suggestion I was somehow manipulated. Now that I think about it, I did notice in the beginning that you weren’t at all what I expected you to be like. Is that why?”

“I guess.” Draco figured that honesty would be the best policy now, for he was comfortable with the notion that he’d only been genuine with her. Reading the book had been insightful, not particularly educational. “It was all just information I thought I should’ve had years earlier. We can talk more about it once you read it, but I realized there were a lot of mistakes I’d made with Pansy that I didn’t want to repeat if I could help it. I don’t think I would’ve taken it as seriously if my father talked to me instead on what’s all in it.”

Dagmar managed a small smile at that notion, although it faded quite quickly.

She must have realized there wasn’t much point dwelling on it until she was well enough versed in the issue. Draco understood where she was coming from. They’d meshed really well together, but if Draco was getting instructions whispered into his ear on how to make that happen, it might undermine that.

The difference was big to Draco. The advice was meant to last a lifetime, not just until Dagmar was attached. Hopefully she saw it the same way.


	28. A Day at Home

Dagmar managed to fall asleep easily enough, but something riding her subconscious returned her to full wakefulness when the sky was still dark.

She couldn’t settle on whether she was concerned about Draco taking advice from some book conveniently handed off right at the beginning of their betrothal. Now that Dagmar thought about it, the change in Draco at that time had been sudden and drastic. Dagmar just thought Draco had been compelled to smarten up by his mum. After Draco told her about the change in arrangements, Dagmar had some pretty serious doubts that they could manage to make it work based on his prior behaviour.

Those doubts had faded away since, but now Dagmar wasn’t sure. What would Draco have been like without this help? How much of their relationship’s inception depended on him taking not from himself, but elsewhere? Did it even matter at this point?

It mattered to Dagmar in the sense that, like Draco knowing about the betrothal when she didn’t, they weren’t on equal footing. Draco had an advantage that he kept from her. Dagmar was disappointed that he hadn’t told her about it. Their entire relationship was supposed to be based on honesty. It was a value she thought they shared.

On the other hand, Dagmar had to weigh heavily the outcome. What had Draco aimed to gain by following this book’s advice? He’d told Dagmar that the initial reason he wanted this arranged marriage to work was because his mum asked him to try. Over time, Dagmar had developed her own theory, one that Draco didn’t really seem capable of putting into words: he was impressionable to a fault, especially where his parents were involved. It bordered upon empathy in a very weird way, since he was subconsciously attuned to the moods and attitudes that surrounded him. He absorbed it all like a sponge. He emulated his parents’ arrogance and general dissatisfaction. While he’d been with Pansy, her miserability had sharpened his established temperament. He craved acceptance from somewhere—anywhere.

Draco never really had the opportunity to pursue his own happiness. He’d treated his own dreams for life like they were something to be ashamed of. Since Dagmar herself lived how she wanted to regardless of what her parents thought, Draco probably saw the chance to do the same if he went with her.

It was a selfish decision, but Draco hadn’t taken it selfishly. Never at any point did Dagmar feel like their relationship revolved around Draco and his wants and needs. Conversely, because of Dagmar’s lacking experience, she had been at the helm all along. She was the one that decided they wouldn’t have children. She made it a condition that Draco could never be a Death Eater. She’d set the romantic pace they moved at.

Dagmar had nearly every advantage in their relationship. How could she even say, then, that this book had given Draco one? Laying everything down like that, it looked to Dagmar more like it had just evened the playing field. Draco didn’t have a choice but to follow any advice in it if he wanted the future they’d laid out for themselves. Dagmar wouldn’t have been impressed—and she certainly wouldn’t have been wooed—if Draco hadn’t adjusted his attitude.

She also had to remember that she had her own motives for entering this relationship. Dagmar was unsatisfied too. Dagmar wanted someone that she clicked with, who was more passionate and present than Blaise.

And that, Draco was. He didn’t really look it at the moment, but affection swelled up inside Dagmar all the same. Draco laid facing away from Dagmar, his shoulder rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Doing her absolute best not to wake him, Dagmar curled up against his back. She carefully laid an arm over his middle.

Draco’s next inhale was long. Dagmar didn’t want to hear that, for it most likely meant she’d interrupted his rest. She laid still, hoping that Draco would just drift back off. Something touched Dagmar’s fingers, making her twitch, but she relaxed when Draco’s hand came to rest on top of hers.

“Are you awake?” he whispered.

Dagmar kissed his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

His hand remained on hers until his breathing evened back out. Dagmar nuzzled his upper back, ready to drift off herself. The next time she opened her eyes, daylight had appeared behind their room’s curtains.

Dagmar would’ve liked to go downstairs for coffee before they left, but they slept a little too late for that. She was just as eager to get home, and yet dreaded it. The rest of the summer would pass like a blur now. Dagmar experienced more frequently, and with growing intensity, waves of panic about how little she had prepared this summer for the NEWTs.

Draco was quiet as they got ready to go. He only really spoke when spoken to. A less-secure Dagmar would worry that it meant Draco knew he’d been busted doing something that completely undermined their relationship.

Dagmar wrapped her arms around his middle from behind while he zipped his bag. Like during the night, Draco ran a hand over hers. He was more reserved about it when fully awake.

“What’s wrong?” Dagmar asked. “I hope you’re not too worried about this thing with that book.”

“I’m not really worried about what’s in it,” Draco replied, “just that I might have cocked up by not telling you about it sooner. My father suggested I don’t, and now that just seems like stupid advice. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it for myself.”

Dagmar figured she knew why.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “When I think about it, it doesn’t worry me. It doesn’t really matter what’s in the book, just what you took from it. I trust you.”

The muscles in Draco’s upper back relaxed as he exhaled.

Guilt squirmed in Dagmar’s gut. “I realize now I haven’t said that a lot. I’ve always kept you at some amount of distance.”

“I don’t hold it against you for not being very sure of me.” Draco turned around in her arms. “I always knew I was lucky you were willing to give me a chance.”

“I’m really glad I did.”

“Me too.”

Smiling anew, Dagmar pulled Draco into a warm hug. She loved these kind that blanketed the two of them away from the rest of the world. Affection swelled within her as Draco nuzzled her shoulder, his arms tightening around her middle. He’d never explicitly said so, but Dagmar got the sense he’d missed out on a lot of tenderness in his life. Although Mrs. Malfoy treated him that way, it was practically an expectation of one’s mother. It didn’t really count beyond a certain age.

The stress from only having two weeks until they returned to school squeezed Dagmar’s heart again. She had no idea what would come of her and Draco at Hogwarts. They could only plan for so much, and as someone that liked to have some sort of structure in place, it was really hard for Dagmar to accept something open-ended.

They’d only just settled into Draco’s room back at Malfoy Manor, Dagmar seated on his bed with a purring Heimdall, when a knock came at the door.

“Yeah?” Draco asked.

“Oh, so I did hear you return.” It was Mrs. Malfoy. “Is Dagmar in there?”

Draco looked at Dagmar with a raised eyebrow. She matched his confusion with a shrug, just relieved that they hadn’t been caught or interrupted during a more private moment.

Dagmar smiled when Draco opened the door. “Hei, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Hello, my dear.” She leaned against the door frame. “Your mum asked if I could send you along home if you didn’t make it there on your own. She wanted to see you before dinner tonight.”

“Oh.” That disappointed Dagmar. “Okay.”

“I’d also like to speak to you before you head out,” she said. “Are you going by floo? I could just wait downstairs.”

“I can.” Dagmar would’ve rather apparated now that she could, but that was fine. “I’ll just get my things together, and I’ll be right down.”

Draco folded his arms once his mum left, his lips bunched to one side. “Well, that sucks.”

“Ja.” Dagmar moved Heimdall off her lap with a sigh. “I wonder what my mum wants. I wonder what _yours_ wants.”

“Hard to say.” Draco pulled her into a new hug. “I guess I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Mhm.” Dagmar kissed his cheek. “Did you want to stay over, after?”

“Sure.”

Dagmar kissed him again, smiling afterward. “Why don’t you give me your overnight bag and some clothes? I’ll take them for you now, then you don’t have to think about them later.”

She had enough room in her bag. While Dagmar zipped it back up on the edge of Draco’s bed, she paused.

“I’d still like to read that book, if you don’t mind,” she told Draco. “I’m just curious, and it seems like a good way to burn away the afternoon.”

Draco opened the drawer on his bedside table. It was much smaller than Dagmar expected. She put it in her bag all the same.

“See you tonight,” she bid him.

After another hug and some further affection, Dagmar peeled herself away. She missed Draco already as she and Heimdall stepped out into the hallway and headed for the foyer stairs. Until Dagmar spotted Mrs. Malfoy sitting in the great room, she had almost forgotten that she wanted to see her.

“Ah, there you are.” Mrs. Malfoy’s long, blonde hair shifted in the light as she stood up. “I wanted to give you your birthday gift from Lucius and I before tonight so you’d be able to coordinate an outfit with it, if you so chose.”

Dagmar concealed her discomfort about receiving what was most likely an expensive gift. She took the black jewelry box from Mrs. Malfoy. Sure enough, Dagmar’s eyes widened as several precious stones glittered back from where they’d been set into a bracelet.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed. “I don’t know what to say, besides thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything other than that.” Mrs. Malfoy beamed. “It’s once in a lifetime a young lady comes of-age, and you’re the closest thing to a daughter Lucius and I will ever have. It seemed the perfect occasion to spoil you a little.”

Because so much of Dagmar’s focus in joining the Malfoy family landed on Draco, she hadn’t really come yet to see his parents as a future second pair of her own. Mr. Malfoy was so aloof anyway, and Mrs. Malfoy gave Dagmar and Draco plenty of space this summer to sort things out between them. That they welcomed her like that—accepted her—touched Dagmar. She had no idea how to put that into words either, which Mrs. Malfoy seemed to understand. She brought Dagmar into a short but tight hug.

“We’ll see you tonight,” Mrs. Malfoy said afterward.

“And thank you again, I mean it.” Dagmar grinned. “I’m glad you gave me the opportunity to wear it for dinner.”

Dagmar had to stop in front of the fireplace to adjust herself for travel. She carefully placed the bracelet box in her bag, on top of Draco’s overnight things. Stooped over like that, her eyes grew heavy. It didn’t stop when she stood straight again, but at least it was a good feeling.

“All right, come on, you.” Dagmar picked up Heimdall with a grunt of effort as he went dead-weight in protest. As unhappy he was at the prospect of traveling by floo, Dagmar couldn’t help but be tickled by the thought of how much he would hate it if she apparated with him instead.

He curled up against her with his nails dug in as they traversed the short distance separating Malfoy and Ramstad Manor. Heimdall hit the great room floor with a grunt of his own. His tail quivered.

Feeling in a good mood, Dagmar ran her hand down the length of his back and up his tail. “Want a treat? Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

Heimdall’s feet pattered along the floor beside her. The house elves made a ruckus preparing various dishes for the evening, but still fell over themselves to find something fitting for both Dagmar and Heimdall. Heimdall jumped up onto a seat at the island and watched the elves work with darting eyes and a swishing tail. Whenever one came close, he ducked down so that only his dilated pupils were visible over the island edge. He didn’t react at all to Dagmar petting him.

“If you pounce on one, you won’t get anything,” Dagmar cooed at him.

She couldn’t tell if he listened or not, but he ended up keeping his feet on the stool. He jumped down when Dagmar had a sandwich for herself and some extra shredded chicken on the side. Heimdall weaved through her feet on the way to the stairs, meowing. When Dagmar reached the top landing, the door of her parents’ bedroom opened.

Dagmar’s mum poked her head out. “Do I hear a cat?”

“Oh, ja.” Dagmar nudged Heimdall with her foot. “You must not have seen him day before yesterday. Draco got him for me for my birthday.”

“That was nice of him,” her mum commented. She squatted down nearby and wiggled her fingers in an attempt to entice Heimdall over. He made a noise in his throat before approaching her. “What beautiful colouring. Makes me miss Grim.”

Dagmar smiled in remembrance. “Heimr is turning out to be quite the little character himself. He’s more cuddly than Grim was, and that’s saying something.”

“‘Heimr’?”

“Well, Heimdall.”

Dagmar’s mum scratched underneath Heimdall’s chin while he purred away. Dagmar wanted to edge off into her room. She had no idea what her mum wanted to talk about, but now that Dagmar was of-age, she feared she might start feeling the pressure about joining or at least sympathizing with You-Know-Who.

She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Malfoy said you wanted me home for something?”

“Oh—ja.” Her mum looked up. “I think your dad is in the drawing room. I’ll go get him. Be right back.”

Dagmar’s stomach twisted in apprehension. “Okay.”

Her mum didn’t seem sketchy or anything, which caused Dagmar pause when she stepped into her room. Then again, if it had something to do with the Death Eaters, would she want to tip Dagmar off before she could even say her piece?

If the time had come to denounce You-Know-Who, so be it. Dagmar had been dreading this for a while. Now that she was an adult, it could happen anytime.

Her appetite diminished a bit as she waited. Heimdall happily and ignorantly ate his chicken on the floor beside her desk while Dagmar just picked at pieces that poked out from her sandwich.

“Come in,” she called when one of her parents knocked on her doors.

Neither of them seemed particularly serious, which filled Dagmar with tentative relief. She smiled, standing to receive a hug, when her dad grinned. The smell of pipe tobacco clung to his clothes and hair.

“Happy birthday, jenta mi,” he said with a scratchy kiss to her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

“I’ll feel it more myself when I’m out of school,” Dagmar replied.

“Well, for us it’s about the same. Either way, you’re leaving home.” Eyes crinkled, Dagmar’s dad rubbed her upper arms before affectionately squeezing them. “I suppose there’ll always be the holidays.”

“Of course.”

“We have your gift for you, anyway.” Her dad reached into a pocket of his robe.

Dagmar accepted the envelope, tentativeness re-emerging at the prospect of something else expensive coming her way. She was right. One of the folded pieces of paper inside was a gift certificate to Lyng worth fifty romer.

“Herregud,” Dagmar said to herself.

“It’s your favourite shop,” her mum said with a shrug and smile. “You’ll find good use for it.”

The other piece of paper in the envelope was less thick and off-white as opposed to a light rose colour. However, for how far Dagmar’s jaw had dropped at having fifty romer to spend at Lyng, she wasn’t prepared for the bottom line on this bank slip.

“We went to Gringotts yesterday,” her dad explained. “Now that you’re of-age, you’re entitled to begin receiving your share of the estate.”

“But. . .” Dagmar couldn’t stop reading it over and over. “It’s so much.”

“That’s just for the first year.” Dagmar’s dad put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll have more costs than usual as you head out into the world. House, travel. . .whatever else you can think of. You’ll only get half this amount every August from now on.”

“Well. . .thank you,” Dagmar forced herself enough out of her shock to say.

Her dad winked. “We’re confident that we raised you well enough to know the value of a galleon. You won’t throw it away.”

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed.

Her parents left her then to absorb the fact that she had quite literally just become a rich person. Dagmar never considered herself that way before, for she had always mentally separated herself from her family’s money. It was a resource there to be used if and when needed, but nothing more. A sliver of that now sat as a mound of gold underground at Gringotts, attached to Dagmar’s name.

Dagmar headed over to the couch, where her bag still sat packed up. She took her messenger back with her to the desk. Draco was most likely too busy with something else to look at his copy, but maybe not.

Words were waiting to be read on the first page when Dagmar opened it. She smiled, for Draco couldn’t have written them all that long ago.

 _What did my mum want?_ he’d asked.

Dagmar dipped a quill to respond. _She gave me a birthday gift from her and your father._

While she waited for Draco to respond, Dagmar tucked into her sandwich. Heimdall jumped up on the windowsill next to her to watch the birds outside. He made a noise in his throat when Dagmar scratched his back.

Draco had noticed her reply: _What did they get you?_

 _A really nice bracelet. I’ll show you at dinner._ Dagmar hesitated to send it off, adding more before doing so. _She told me I’m the closest thing to a daughter her and your father will ever have. I won’t lie, I may have teared up a little bit._

_Aw._

Dagmar’s sense of missing Draco swelled again now that the shock of so many luxurious gifts had started to wear off. She wet her quill, intent to tell him about what her parents had given her, but then decided it was a better discussion to hold in-person. They’d be together again tonight.

With her lunch finished, Dagmar closed the messenger and headed back to her bag to pull out the book Draco had handed off. She lost steam on her way over to the bed with it. Dagmar pursed her lips in thought as she studied the worn, blank cover. Now that she had it in her hands and an afternoon to dedicate toward it, she didn’t actually know if she cared enough to do so.

Dagmar’s curiosity wasn’t so much in the book itself, but Draco’s opinion on the contents. She felt like she knew him enough to derive that, regardless of what the book said. If it was a bad book, he’d disagreed and taken from it that way. If it was a good one, Draco took it as intended.

There were other things Dagmar would prefer to do today. With only slight pain, she procrastinated further yet on studying for school by leaving her bedroom. Her parents were in party and family mode as they prepared the garden for dinner, and it seemed like a good opportunity to actually spend some time with them.

They were out in the garden. While the house elves happily worked away setting up the table and various spells that would keep every insect and bird at bay, Dagmar’s parents sat at a small table in the shade. They drank what looked similar to the berry soda Draco had ordered during dinner in Bergen, and were deep into a game of chess. About half of Dagmar’s mum’s pieces sat off to the side, and a third of her dad’s. Her mum considered the board with pursed lips, her dad working to suppress a smile behind the rim of his glass.

“Well!” he exclaimed when he spotted Dagmar. “Look who it is.”

She waved him off, grinning as well as she took one of the empty seats between her parents. One of the house elves came by to see if they wanted more drinks. Dagmar took the opportunity to ask for one, which she casually sipped through her straw while trying to see what kind of strategy her parents were going for on the board. She hadn’t played in so long, she would be surprised if she could actually pick them out.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the summer?” Dagmar’s dad asked with a glance in her direction.

“Studying,” Dagmar flatly replied. “I haven’t at all.”

“That must mean you managed to do everything else you wanted to, ja?”

Dagmar nodded. “I’m holidayed out.”

Her parents exchanged what might have been a significant glance. For a moment, Dagmar worried again that something—anything—to do with You-Know-Who might come up.

“You and Draco have been very private so far,” her mum said, “but that’s all going well, is it?”

“Mhm,” Dagmar answered. “I like him quite a lot, which was a pleasant surprise. Didn’t think I had it in me. Didn’t think he had it in _him_ to be likeable.”

Her mum chuckled. “I was thinking after you and I spoke upstairs the other day that we probably should’ve had that conversation as more than an aside.”

Dagmar wrinkled her nose. “I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“Still,” her mum maintained. “There are a lot of mistakes to be made at your age. The least I can do is give you the run-down on how to avoid them.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I was an accident?”

Dagmar just grinned when her mum turned a deadpan expression on her.

“Nei,” her mum said. “I very much intended to have you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Dagmar replied. “I don’t mean to get pregnant. Madam Pomfrey gives out Natalise Potion at school.”

“That’s good.” Her mum reached for a rook to move a few spaces. “In the meantime?”

Dagmar’s cheeks warmed. “Herregud, Mum. I’m handling it. It’s not really any of your business what Draco and I do.”

“Okay, okay.” Her mum chuckled. “I’m just making sure. I don’t know why you’d be embarrassed, anyway. Sex is just part of the human experience. If you manage to have it with someone you’re in love with, you’re very lucky indeed.”

Despite the fact that Dagmar’s lower abdomen glowed warm, for she knew exactly what her mum meant, she still made retching noises as her parents made eyes at each other.

Her dad pushed her shoulder, laughing. “Act your age.”

After Dagmar’s mum lost the game, Dagmar gave it a shot against her dad. She could tell her dad went easy, more content to smoke his pipe than end the game sooner than was possible by Dagmar’s lacking expertise. They only had time for one game before Dagmar pivoted toward getting ready for the Malfoys to arrive. She’d just started going through her choices for what to wear when her mum looked in. She wound up sitting on the end of Dagmar’s bed with Heimdall.

“Don’t wear yellow,” her mum said when Dagmar brought a layered sundress out. “That’s what I’m wearing.”

“Okay.”

Dagmar enjoyed evaluating different potentials with her mum too much to expedite the process. She saved her top choice for last, a pale pink bodycon fit with lace at the bottom hem and its short sleeves.

“That one really accentuates your hips,” her mum said.

“That good or bad?”

“Up to you. Just saying.” Her mum shrugged with a smile. “You have nice hips. Any occasion to bring them out is a worthy one. Kill them all with curves.”

Dagmar laughed. It was easy for her mum to say, because she had the exact same body type.

“Belt or no?” Dagmar asked.

Her mum hummed. “I think you could go without. Try one on anyway. Let’s see.”

Dagmar wasn’t leaning toward it, but it was another excuse to spend this time with her mum. Spending the afternoon playing around in Dagmar’s closet, then doing their makeup, hair, and nails together, left Dagmar happy yet melancholic. All over again, she couldn’t understand why her parents had chosen following You-Know-Who over a simpler life.

For the sake of enjoying this moment, Dagmar put her feelings away. There was no point ruining a good day if it could be avoided. As summer came to an end, and with it the dregs of Dagmar’s childhood, there would be plenty of time in the future to lament over it.

Shortly before five, when the Malfoys were due to arrive, Dagmar completed her outfit with the jewelry she intended to wear. She had some rings and a necklace that went well with the bracelet Mrs. Malfoy had given her earlier. All in all, she was very happy with how she looked. She hoped that Draco thought the same. Dagmar couldn’t wait to see him, herself.

Dagmar joined her parents in the great room, where they waited. Her stomach filled with butterflies in anticipation, spiking when the fireplace turned emerald. Mr. Malfoy arrived first, greeting Dagmar’s dad with a clap on the shoulder before kissing Dagmar’s mum and then her on the cheeks. Narcissa arrived next, glowing in a pastel blue dress. She went down the line like her husband had, although stayed at Dagmar after they greeted each other. Her gaze softened as she looked at the bracelet.

“It suits you,” she said.

“That was a gift?” Dagmar’s mum piped up beside them. “I wondered if I’d never seen it before.”

For the sake of politesse, Dagmar had to indulge the interest in her newest piece of jewelry. Of course she was just as enthusiastic about it, but when Draco arrived through the fireplace, she was more interested in seeing him. He migrated toward their fathers, of which Dagmar’s put an arm around his shoulders in greeting. Dagmar smiled at Draco, unable to escape for the moment. He couldn’t really either, but at least when Dagmar’s mum realized he was there and that she hadn’t properly said hello, it made a path for Draco to Dagmar. Unfortunately, with their parents all there looking at them, they couldn’t do much more than share a brief hug after Draco kissed Dagmar equally chastely on the cheek.

“Look at you,” he whispered in her ear.

“Speak for yourself.”

Even if it was slightly embarrassing with an audience, Dagmar couldn’t resist cupping his jaw and running her thumb over his cheek. Her own face grew warm when she caught her mum’s eye on their way out to the garden.

At the table set up by the house elves, Dagmar’s dad took one end and her mum the other. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy sat beside each other on one side, leaving the other to Dagmar and Draco. Dagmar had been concerned that they wouldn’t be able to sit together, but now that they did, she saw the hidden value in being separated. She couldn’t touch Draco the way she was normally used to, and anything that she’d like to talk to him about was better done in private.

One of the house elves came around to pour wine, another behind it with bread, and another behind that one with the butter. Dagmar helped herself to a roll. It was still warm enough from the oven that the butter she spread over it melted right away.

Across from Dagmar, Mrs. Malfoy ran her nose over the rose-coloured drink. “Ooh, this is one of my favourites. Excellent choice.”

Dagmar’s hand brushed Draco’s leg under the table. It was the exact same kind that he’d bought her for the coming Christmas.

The first meal course arrived shortly after, a plate full of various smørbrød bites. The acidic pickled herring and gravlax selections primed Dagmar’s palate for the roast beef and chicken ones, which sharpened the flavour of the secondary ingredients in the blue cheese one. Pear and toasted hazelnuts didn’t taste quite as good on their own.

Beet salad for the second course was followed by a main of beef wellington garnished with hollandaise-drizzled asparagus and brussel sprouts. When a slice of blotkake was set in front of Dagmar for dessert, she wasn’t entirely sure how she would make it fit. She picked off the strawberries to eat while she figured it out.

Draco seemed to be of similar mind beside Dagmar. At least when it came to a multi-course meal in Scandinavian culture, it was expected that they linger at the table after all the food had been eaten. Their parents certainly showed no signs of moving along as the sun edged toward the treetops. By the time it properly set and the table relied solely on candles and torches to see each other, the cake had been reduced to crumbs.

Dagmar was more content to listen to her mum and Mrs. Malfoy chat rather than contribute. Draco did the same with their fathers. Every once in a while, Draco would reach over out of sight to run a hand over Dagmar’s thigh or forearm. Eventually, perhaps once he had enough wine in him to no longer care, Draco just left his hand on her knee. The couple glasses Dagmar drank allowed her to similarly throw propriety to the wind.

The stars twinkled above when the conversation started to slow down. Mr. Malfoy brushed some of Mrs. Malfoy’s hair back off her shoulder. “Well?”

“Yes, the night’s getting on. . .”

The material on Dagmar’s dress was tight around her stomach. She couldn’t wait to get out of it and into something more comfortable, but she had to see Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy off in the great room first. She hugged Mrs. Malfoy goodbye easily, although hesitated before doing the same with Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps since his cheeks had gone pink from the wine, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Dagmar expected it to be.

“I suspect we’ll see you around.” He winked at Dagmar. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Please, just Lucius. You’re family.”

Dagmar smiled warmly at him. “Okay.”

Lucius and Narcissa stepped off toward the fireplace, then were gone in twin flashes of emerald fire. Dagmar’s dad extinguished the orange flames that followed with a wave of his wand and a loud yawn.

“Feels like bedtime,” Dagmar’s mum confirmed. “Good night, you two.”

“Night.”

Dagmar hugged her parents, Draco doing the same before Dagmar led him toward the foyer stairs. She hadn’t thought she drank that much, but now that she was up and moving around, Dagmar felt the alcohol’s effect. She snorted when Draco tripped lightly on one of the stairs heading up. He joined in with her laughter, cheeks pink. Dagmar couldn’t tell if the colour stemmed from embarrassment or excess.

Safe inside her room, Dagmar pulled Draco into a hug. “Finally. I’ve been so tired of only being able to look at you.”

“Same.”

Dagmar groaned lightly into a kiss. She could taste the wine on Draco’s lips. Maybe he hadn’t paced himself as well as Dagmar tried, or just didn’t eat enough bread to counteract the effects. That was too bad.

She began unbuttoning his shirt. When Dagmar reached his sternum with it, Draco put his hands overtop of hers. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t think you’ll want to sleep in these clothes,” Dagmar replied.

“Just what are you after?”

“Nothing.” Dagmar kissed his cheek. “I’m trying to put you to bed.”

“Oh.” Draco’s grip relaxed. “All right, then.”

He steadied himself on Dagmar’s shoulders, falling quiet. It wasn’t often that Dagmar saw Draco in a vulnerable place, and how quickly he jumped on her for something as simple as undressing him concerned her a little. It wouldn’t have been a big deal at all, were he sober.

Tipsy herself, Dagmar probably overthought it. Draco let her carry on, following her to the edge of the bed so that she could help him out of his shoes, socks, and trousers. Draco laid back after that with a hefty exhale, eyes closed.

“You should pee one more time,” Dagmar told him.

“Oh. . .yeah.”

Dagmar changed out of her dress over by her closet while Draco occupied the bathroom. She came over with his overnight bag. “Did you want to brush your teeth?”

“Bloody hell, the amount of things there is to do.”

Dagmar snorted. “It’s only one more thing. Then you can go wait for me in the bed.”

While he did that over the sink, Dagmar pulled her hair out of the half-up bun she’d done for the evening. She hadn’t worn much makeup either, so it came off easily. The mascara stained her eyelashes, and her lips darkened a few shades back to their natural colour when she wiped them clean. She reached for the toothpaste on the counter in front of Draco and caught his eye in the mirror. His adoring gaze was undermined by the white foam seeping out of his mouth.

Dagmar laughed again, although the humour of it was lost on Draco for the moment. He rinsed out his mouth while Dagmar brushed her teeth. Rather than head back into the room, Draco wrapped his arms around Dagmar’s middle from behind and laid his head on her upper back.

“What a lucky bastard I am,” he murmured behind her. “How did a prat like me ever wind up with a girl like you?”

Dagmar ran her free hand affectionately over his forearms. Draco made it difficult to move since he steadfastly hung onto her. Once Dagmar managed to pat her mouth and chin dry, she extracted herself from Draco’s grip. “Come on, you. Bedtime.”


	29. Summer Waning

Draco definitely did not want to wake up, when he felt his body coming out of it. The only good thing about being conscious was how closely pressed he laid against Dagmar. At some point in the night, whether he meant to or not, he’d snuck a hand up Dagmar’s shirt to hold one of her breasts.

He took it back. Draco’s memories of last night were murky at best, although he was confident they hadn’t fooled around. He hoped they hadn’t anyway, given how much effort it took even while sober to restrain himself with Dagmar.

After emptying his bladder and downing a large glass of water to counter his headache, Draco headed back to bed. He came to again in the brightly lit bedroom with fresh need to pee.

“Good morning,” Dagmar said behind him when Draco sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Oh—morning,” he replied.

She had set her pillows against the headboard so that she could sit up. Dagmar’s legs remained bridged under the covers, and the little black book Draco had loaned her the day before sat open against her thighs.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked.

“Okay, I think.” Draco rubbed his eyes. “Bit gross.”

“No surprise there.”

Draco headed off to the bathroom with his glass. He topped it off at the tap before returning. It definitely felt better to be horizontal than upright. Draco laid on his back with his eyes closed, listening to Dagmar occasionally turn the page.

A niggling thought tugged at Draco’s mind. “Did we do anything last night?”

“Nei.”

That was good, then. It was for the better. That way, Draco didn’t have to worry about anything his drunk self might have decided was worth taking a gamble on.

Draco opened his eyes when a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. “How’s the reading going?”

“Good.” Dagmar shrugged. “I honestly wasn’t even going to bother, but I figured since I woke up before you. . .why not, it was something to do.”

“What part are you at?”

“Currently learning so much about the menstrual cycle.”

Draco chuckled. The whole thing had remained a mystery to him up until he got that book. He’d thought that girls got it all at once during the full moon. He knew when Pansy had hers because she wouldn’t even let him touch her, but Draco never clued in that it didn’t actually happen while the moon was biggest.

“Honestly, I thought the lot of you bled like you peed,” Draco said. “It sounds a lot worse than I thought.”

“It’s not fun, I’ll grant you that.” Dagmar set the book aside and opted to lay down with him instead. “You get used to it, but some are definitely worse than others. I had an easy one while I was in Nice, so I’m expecting to have a terrible time the first week back to Hogwarts. Oh boy.”

“Must suck to have that interrupt your life.”

“Well, when you’ve had it long enough, you don’t really let it get in the way.” Dagmar shrugged. “It does take some extra consideration, which can be annoying. When I was in Nice, I would’ve rathered not had to worry about bleeding through my bathing suit or not finding a loo when I had to change things out. Plus, walking around feeling like someone has your uterus in a death grip is not great.”

“I think I’d rather spring random boners,” Draco replied.

Dagmar laughed. “Me too. I’m a bit jealous.”

“Until it happens somewhere you can’t hide it.”

“I suppose.”

Dagmar ran her fingers over Draco’s abdomen on top of the blanket. Although he considered himself to be in a fairly good mood, he couldn’t ignore that Dagmar studied him with a hint of shrewdness. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.” Dagmar shrugged. “I wanted to ask you something about last night, but it might be a touchy subject.”

Draco furrowed his brow.

“I’m not sure what you remember, but I was only trying to undress you for bed, and you reacted. . .” Dagmar hesitated, thinking, “weird? Like if I was wanting to fool around or something, that you _really_ weren’t up for it. Which is fine—if you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But you were. . .I don’t know, I guess I’m asking if you’ve ever been taken advantage of while drunk before.”

Draco’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. “No.”

“Okay.” Dagmar edged closer. “I know that’s a really personal question to ask, either way. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making you uncomfortable. I’d feel terrible if I did.”

“No, it’s. . .”

Draco worked his lips together. His past issues with consent were always in the back of his mind as of late, and quite often came to the forefront of it as he navigated this new relationship with Dagmar. Until now, when Dagmar had read far enough into the black book to understand where he was coming from, Draco had nobody to talk to about it. He didn’t like the light it would put him into, and he would much rather work to fix his skewed perception about bodily autonomy than dwell.

“It was me that was the problem,” Draco admitted with difficulty. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Dagmar, just in case he might see disappointment or—worse—disgust there. “My father gave me that book maybe an hour or two after my mum told me that they wanted me to marry you instead of Pansy. The first thing you read in it is that bit about consent, and I immediately felt sick with myself. We’ve talked a bit about how my relationship with Pansy was, but until I actually had it laid out for me like that, I didn’t have any idea how all over the map with that we were.”

Dagmar’s fingers moved in a rhythmic motion on his chest while she thought. “You mean like how she always defaulted to you and whatever you wanted?”

Draco nodded. “It’s hard to say looking back just how many times she did something she didn’t want to, just because I did. I want to say I respected whatever boundaries she put up, but that wasn’t always the case. There were a couple times I pushed her on it. I knew she’d give in.”

Hot shame to actually admit it aloud, especially to someone that certainly wouldn’t tolerate such gross behaviour, broiled Draco. His skin crawled, and he wished he could just slip out of it. He couldn’t even turn his face back toward Dagmar. How did she even stand to touch him?

“Were you never talked to about this stuff before you got the book?” she asked.

Draco shook his head. “Not really. I had a vague idea because, well, it’s not exactly hard to understand. I thought because Pansy put me in charge and made it all up to me that that meant it was all right. I ignored when it didn’t feel right because I didn’t think it was based on anything. Pansy had said it was fine. I never thought about that changing with the situation. If she wasn’t into it, I should’ve stopped. I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

“I get why you would’ve been confused,” Dagmar said. “From what you’ve told me, she never really seemed to have any boundaries.”

“She did have some,” Draco replied. “She didn’t like me touching her hardly at all when she was on her period. I left her alone on that. At the same time, I don’t want to say something like ‘well at least I. . .’ because I don’t really think I deserve not to feel like hot dung for the damage I might’ve done otherwise. I think that if I didn’t get a chance to start over, things with Pansy were so far-gone they probably wouldn’t be fixable. I have no idea how to fix something like that. I don’t even know if it’s possible. My knee-jerk reaction is to clear my conscience by apologizing to her, but I’m also terrified that she might not see it as a problem right now, and then she might realize it was if I said something, and then if she’s angry I broke up with her. . .that’s not exactly an accusation anyone ever shakes.”

“Nei, it’s not.”

Confirmation of that made Draco’s stomach burn as if he’d been drunk enough last night to spend this morning bent over the toilet. He barely trusted himself to open his mouth again.

“Sounds to me like you were a couple of dumb kids,” Dagmar said. “I don’t want to blame Pansy for anything either, but it doesn’t exactly sound to me like she cared enough to say no. If she had some well-defined boundaries and you respected that, it makes me wonder why she didn’t in other situations. She knew you’d listen.”

“I don’t know if it’s just the way she is, or if she just didn’t know any better either. I don’t want to let myself off the hook by going with the one I hope for.”

“I think you’re beating yourself up more than you need to,” Dagmar told him. “It takes a big man to recognize he cocked up like that. The important take-away for me is that as soon as you knew better, you changed your behaviour. It would’ve been a point of concern if you read that part of the book and just thought ‘oh well, this doesn’t apply to me’ or ‘Pansy didn’t care, therefore all women don’t’. You didn’t, though. You took the opportunity to self-reflect on what harm you may have inflicted upon someone you cared about, and you corrected it. I’ve certainly never felt disrespected in that way. No matter what state you’ve been in—stone sober, turned on, or drunk—you’ve never compromised. You’ve never made an excuse for yourself.”

Draco slowly nodded. It didn’t let him off the hook when it came to Pansy, but he’d proven to himself that this newer way of treating his partner was sustainable. Not only that, but it had both quickened and deepened Draco and Dagmar’s trust in each other. There were things they’d done and conversations they had that Draco didn’t think he ever would have with Pansy.

He still resisted when Dagmar tried to turn his face back toward her. She smiled when he would finally meet her eye, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“You’re a good man, Draco,” she told him. “Never let anyone make you believe otherwise.”

“I’ll try.”

“That includes you.”

* * *

After the dinner party, Dagmar couldn’t make anymore excuses about why she shouldn’t start studying ahead of NEWT year.

The summer was drawing to a quick close. Dagmar could feel it in the air, how Draco’s bedroom cooled off by dawn if they left the window open at night. It was of course a good excuse to cuddle up under the blankets. More often than not, Dagmar came to with Heimdall having wormed his way beneath the covers as well.

Dagmar quickly fell back into the habit of studying, reading for several hours at a time, although still had her distractions. Her focus would bend completely away from whatever book she slogged through when Draco touched her.

It was like he knew exactly how to, to make something happen. Dagmar’s blood would warm as soon as she registered any kind of intent in Draco’s fingers. If he ran them up Dagmar’s inner thigh meaning to navigate past her knickers, he’d find her already wet.

Fooling around as punctuation for their study sessions invoked in both of them a heightened sense of exploration. Dagmar certainly grew more comfortable with how Draco’s body worked, as well as the capabilities of her own. One of her favourite afternoons consisted of the two of them figuring out what it took to make Dagmar cum without touching her clit. With two of Draco’s fingers, patience, and a healthy dose of attention to other parts of her, Dagmar was reduced to less than a quivering puddle by the end. She would’ve been embarrassed about how she acted if it didn’t clearly turn Draco on so much.

She was quickly getting to the point where even just looking at Draco left Dagmar wanting. As soon as they found relief together, Dagmar would begin winding up again for next time. She was left a little distraught that nothing could quite scratch this itch. It was beginning to infringe on the quality of her studying.

Dagmar was laying on her stomach one warm afternoon, head toward the foot of the bed with her Arithmancy textbook open in front of her, when the familiar initial wave of heat rolled down her body. Draco’s Herbology textbook furrowed his brow with concentration beside her.

His gaze lifted from it when Dagmar shifted to lay on her side facing him. She wasn’t the only one that had been conditioned to know when the other one’s mind bent toward them. Draco put up no resistance to Dagmar removing the book from his lap and replacing it with herself. It was no wonder—she could feel him poking her already through his shorts. He lifted his knees, pressing their torsos together while they kissed.

Draco’s hands roamed up the back of Dagmar’s shirt. “What’re you thinking?”

It had become a common question between them. Dagmar long lost any bashfulness toward answering it. She was comfortable telling Draco what she wanted, or what she wanted to do for him. The prospect of saying something new brought back a degree of her old shyness.

She moved her mouth to Draco’s ear, pressing her lips to the shell. “I think it’s about time you were inside me.” 

Draco stilled. Dagmar pulled back to find a fresh seriousness written all over him. “Yeah?”

“I’m getting to the point now where I can’t really say why we haven’t.” Dagmar nodded. “I’m ready.”

One side of Draco’s mouth lifted, headed toward a smirk, but it developed into a smile instead. It flickered away when Dagmar came close again, their foreheads touching before their noses brushed, followed by their lips. Dagmar already wanted him so badly she didn’t know how she’d stand any sort of wait. It was probably for the best that Draco didn’t rush them, but Dagmar was having a hard time seeing things that way at the moment.

Her shirt rucked up to the dip of her waist, from Draco’s wandering hands. Dagmar thought it sweet how he only stopped kissing her to nuzzle her chest through the material. She helped him out by pulling it up over her head. Before she’d managed to free her chin from the neckline, a warm mouth closed around one of her nipples. She did what she could not to lose contact with Draco, but she jostled herself free of him. The lingering wetness from his mouth cooled her in the room’s slight breeze before he reattached himself.

Dagmar lifted his chin for a kiss. “I’m probably not going to need much warm-up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dagmar grinned when her back found the bed, Draco’s weight following. He’d made it as far down as her sternum before Dagmar interrupted him by pulling his shirt off. She tossed it on the floor somewhere around where hers had landed.

To Draco’s credit, he sort of took her need for haste into account when he slipped off her shorts and knickers. Rather than tease her by licking and nibbling her inner thighs, he dove straight in. He looked up when Dagmar ran her fingers through his hair. She propped up on her other elbow so she could watch. He still had something in mind, judging by the glint in his gaze.

Dagmar raised her hips when Draco slipped a couple fingers inside her. It didn’t take long for her to figure him out. Whenever she came close to the point of no return, Draco would ease off her clit and pay that attention to her thighs instead. Dagmar couldn’t even be mad because, while she hoped for relief, her own body betrayed her. She could feel her pelvic muscles tightening around Draco’s fingers. Once they relaxed again, he’d carry on.

“You are the worst kind of bastard,” she told him.

“Mhm.” The vibration from his acknowledgement only made it worse.

Dagmar didn’t think she could be relieved when Draco let off and came back up her body. Her hands shook as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down. Draco needed to back off from where he’d latched onto Dagmar’s neck to properly remove them. Dagmar felt a smug sense of satisfaction at how he shivered when she stroked him.

“See how _you_ like it,” she said.

Draco chuckled. “Just fine, actually.”

Dagmar couldn’t keep on when Draco leaned over her again. She preferred to wrap her arms around his shoulders anyway, as both invitation and a means to ground herself. Every time Draco’s erection poked her thigh or between her legs, her anticipation managed to grow.

“Hold on a second,” Draco bid her.

While he’d gone down on her, Dagmar had pulled one of the pillows from the head of the bed toward her for comfort. Draco grabbed another, and asked Dagmar to raise her hips so he could slide it under. He kneeled between her legs. Draco hesitated when Dagmar ran her hand over where he held one of her hips, but merely returned her smile.

Draco ran himself up and down her flesh before pressing at her entrance. Dagmar didn’t expect it to go easy, no matter how worked up she was, but she trusted that it wouldn’t be painful either. That didn’t mean it would be comfortable. She couldn’t help but tense up at the intrusion, her grip tightening on Draco’s hand.

He pulled back out. “All right?”

“Ja, just. . .try again.”

Dagmar bent all her focus against tensing, for that had made it worse once she did. As Draco eased in, it wasn’t feeling any better, but it wasn’t getting any worse either. She’d thought it would be more similar to him fingering her than it was, but there was no adjustment to be made against Draco’s girth. It was either all or nothing.

“Still good?” Draco asked.

Dagmar nodded, expression pinched. “Getting used to it.”

“I’m almost all the way, if that makes you feel better.”

Behind the veil of discomfort, Dagmar hadn’t really been able to tell how far he was. She reached down to feel for herself. Only about an inch separated their bodies where they connected.

Dagmar took a steadying breath. “Will you come here, then?”

She winced a little as Draco eased down, for his hips came to rest against her thighs. It did feel better to have his weight back, as well as lips—however unfocused—against hers. More so than usual, every time Draco so much as shifted, Dagmar was completely attuned to it.

Draco looked in pain when he broke their kiss. “Can I move?”

Dagmar nodded. “Just start slow.”

He kept their hips together while he did, which seemed to help. Dagmar held Draco’s shoulders, ready to tense if it hurt again, but it stayed at about the same level of discomfort as she’d started with. It might be starting to get better, actually.

The tension in Draco’s back melted when Dagmar kissed him again. Even the simplest contact turned into something much more acute with this degree of intertwinement. Dagmar winced again when Draco pulled out a bit to sink back into her, but what was good about it definitely overshadowed her body’s lack of experience for this. She needed to turn her face away from Draco in hopes to get full lungs of air during her next breath. He took the opportunity to nuzzle her neck. Dagmar shivered when she felt his tongue, followed by a gentle nibble.

As Dagmar’s body adjusted to the intrusion, Draco had to pay less mind to every little move he made. It made it almost hard to meet Draco’s gaze because he still managed to be so intense about it. His eyes were soft, and yet their grey shade had turned steely. He was watching her carefully for any sign of pain or discomfort. If Dagmar’s cheeks as much as pulled a certain way, he would ease off a little. The natural rhythm he fell into helped. With each thrust back in, he was angled right at her g-spot. His pubic bone slid up against her clit.

Draco had Dagmar so pinned she couldn’t move, but it didn’t matter. It only felt good now, him filling her up, his weight pressing her into the bed and making it groan beneath them. Hot breath pelted Dagmar’s shoulder, and the earthy smell of them combined teased her nostrils. When Dagmar put her lips against Draco’s shoulder, his sweat’s saltiness added to his skin’s usual taste.

She met his gaze again, however difficult, when it burned into her so hot. Physically, Dagmar was helpless to him. She had no control whatsoever over what he did. Rather than scare Dagmar, she found herself smiling before stroking his cheek as encouragement to kiss her.

“That feels really good,” she murmured against his lips.

“No more discomfort?” he asked.

Dagmar shook her head. “None at all.”

She ran her hands down Draco’s waist, fascinated by how he moved. Dagmar scratched his back out of habit, but had to mind herself. If she lost herself too much in everything else, she needed to consciously relent on digging her nails in. There didn’t seem to be much point to trying. Every time Dagmar checked in on herself, she was doing it again.

Too much of a good thing started Dagmar’s body on a slow wind. She didn’t expect at all to cum during her first time since she knew it wasn’t common, but she also didn’t know what _else_ to expect when she fell in with a partner so experienced and considerate.

“Keep doing that,” she hastily breathed.

Draco’s chin pressed into Dagmar’s shoulder as he nodded. Dagmar trembled underneath him, the odd bit of exhalation grazing her vocal cords. That she was completely lost spurred Draco on, which only made Dagmar more helpless against what he was doing to her, and from there the cycle was unescapable. She teetered on what felt like the edge for agonizingly long. Something eventually shifted, and heat flushed down Dagmar’s inner thighs like hot wax. She pressed her mouth against Draco’s shoulder to stifle herself. While it might have saved anyone walking by from hearing her, Draco met it with an expletive of his own as new resistance gripped him in Dagmar’s core.

A wash of endorphins bathed Dagmar’s entire system. Lungs full of air were hardly enough for her to catch her breath. Her face felt hot along with everything else. She still trembled. While Draco had stopped moving, he was still hard inside of her.

She lightly scratched the back of Draco’s neck. “Didn’t you cum?”

“Not yet.” Draco shook his head. “But if we hadn’t fooled around already today, that would’ve definitely done it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Absolutely.” Draco’s hips pressed purposely against Dagmar’s again, pushing her legs back up. “Arms and legs wrapped around me, and then how tight you went? It was the fullest hug I’ve ever gotten.”

They laughed their way into a new kiss, after which Draco’s head returned to Dagmar’s shoulder. She was slightly relieved he was so quickly lost in it again that he couldn’t see her fresh wince. They’d been in this position for too long, according to her hips. She couldn’t find a comfortable way to lay in the minimal range of movement she had. At least judging by how Draco started to pant and shiver, he couldn’t be long. Dagmar hated to cheat by whispering in his ear, but at this point all that probably mattered to Draco was the end. She at least learned something interesting: while telling him how good he felt in English had a noticeable effect, it was switching to Norwegian that did it for Draco. Dagmar was also surprised to find that, like Draco could feel her orgasm, so she could his. He pulsed inside her, everything felt a little wetter (she didn’t think that would be possible at this point), and then he started to soften.

His hot breath hit her neck in waves. All of Dagmar at this point felt wet with sweat if not other bodily fluids, and her thighs were starting to cramp up along with her hips.

She lightly nudged him. “I’m sorry to boot you, but I’m getting sore.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Draco raised himself on shaky arms. Dagmar wasn’t expecting how empty she felt when he slipped out of her. After the trouble her body had given her on initially allowing Draco to fit, now it gave the impression it’d be better suited if he stayed perpetually.

Dagmar sighed with relief when she stretched her legs straight. Her hips cracked loudly, but the cramps that had started in her thighs and abdomen lingered. No doubt she’d be feeling this for a while. When she made to move off the pillow she stilled, eyes wide.

Draco laid beside her. “Something wrong?”

“Pass me a tissue, would you?”

Dagmar wadded it up to use as a stopper against Draco’s cum seeping out of her. Although Draco made room for her to beeline for the bathroom, Dagmar couldn’t move without bearing down on her core. Maybe with all the feel-good chemicals still soaking her, and Draco looking a mess as he stood beside the bed, Dagmar dissolved into uncontrollable, silent laughter. She wound up clenching the tissue between her legs so that she could use both hands to cover her face.

“Go. Just go.” Draco laughed too. “There’s nothing elegant about it. Just go.”

“I can’t.”

That much force from Dagmar’s stomach muscles left the one tissue Draco had handed her in no condition for its job. Draco sat down, leaned over his knees and his back trembling, as Dagmar plucked a couple new tissues from the box. Since Draco wasn’t paying attention, Dagmar took the chance to swap out for fresh ones and bolt into the bathroom.

She figured peeing might do more to help than continuous wiping, but she cut herself off mid-stream with a gasp when Draco ambled in. “Out!”

He turned on his heel. “Whoops, didn’t hear you going.”

Dagmar could at least believe that. She was quiet because she took it slow. Everything was still a bit swollen, and this felt like more effort than usual.

The good news was Dagmar found no signs of blood when she cleaned up. She didn’t think her body had given up that much of a struggle, especially since Draco was so diligent on making sure she was properly ready to accept a larger intrusion than usual. She pulled one of his shirts on in the closet on her way out, meeting Draco at the door, and did a sly check of the bed as well before heading to her bag for a new pair of knickers. If there was any blood on the sheets, Draco had already cleaned it up with a quick spell. Even their sweat was gone.

She crawled back into bed feeling like she’d climbed a mountain. Everything ached, and general weakness kept her from so much as lifting an arm without it trembling in protest. She laid one of them along with a limp leg over Draco when he joined her in fresh pants under the covers. Despite her overall soreness, Dagmar was impossibly happy. She’d certainly found a way to calm down the relentless need for Draco that wracked her lately.

Draco sighed. “Bloody hell.”

“Mhm.”

He ran his fingers over Dagmar’s leg. “I’m wrecked.”

“Me too,” Dagmar agreed. “I figured I’d be sore, but not like this. My bits feel fine, it’s literally everything else.”

Draco smiled. “Well, that’s good at least. Nothing hurt during, did it?”

“Just my hips. I don’t think I can lay like that for so long, or maybe it just takes practice.”

“Oh. . .” Draco resituated his head on the pillow they shared. “I’m sure we’ll find the time for that.”


	30. September Eve

The days, hours, and even minutes ticked by far too quickly for Dagmar’s liking toward the end of August. Summer began to feel like the dregs of a Sunday. The last Tuesday, the last Wednesday. . .leading toward Monday, when they would ride the train north.

It broke Dagmar’s concentration completely toward the studying she’d intended to do. There was no way around it—it was a lost cause this summer. Dagmar was much more preoccupied with what she wouldn’t be able to have while at Hogwarts. The only thing capable of easing her panic was falling in with Draco over and over again.

Dagmar hated how, as soon as all the endorphins wore off, the dread set right back in.

“There has to be a way,” she told Draco on the last Friday as they laid together afterward. “We can’t seriously have to go an entire school year acting like this summer didn’t happen.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Draco reassured her. “It’s a big castle with a lot of nooks and crannies. There’s always the Room of Requirement.”

As reassuring it was to know there was somewhere at Hogwarts that would alter itself to whatever suited their need, Dagmar and Draco could be seen coming and going. There would still be a door, even if it was locked. In that sense, it was no better a choice than a broom closet for where they could meet up.

Dagmar closed her eyes to better hear Draco’s heartbeat through his chest. They wouldn’t be able to sleep together in the innocent sense, for sure. Shared dorms would make it impossible in their own beds, and even if they used the Room of Requirement, it would have to only be occasional. Otherwise, their dorm-mates would start wondering where they went at night.

Talking about it at this point hurt more than it invigorated with the hanging question mark beginning next week. Draco was just as keen as Dagmar to express themselves physically more than in any other way, which contributed to Dagmar’s anxiety as that too could hardly cut it anymore. Nothing was.

She at least found some peace when she focused solely on the moment at hand, next time they fell in together. Dagmar’s naked body pressed against Draco’s under the blankets, his lips were soft against hers, and she could feel tiny bumps rising up where she lightly ran her nails over his arm.

Dagmar rested their foreheads together. “Hey.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Draco’s newly pink cheeks were visible even in the dimly-lit room. Although he smiled, Dagmar’s heart rate picked up with new anxiety. She’d felt calm saying it because she knew it to be true, but she hoped to hear it back.

“I love you too.” He rubbed their noses together. “Honestly probably have for a while.”

“Never thought to tell me?” Dagmar teased.

“Well, I think I’ve put enough pressure on you through all this, just being ready for everything sooner,” Draco replied. “It was the last major thing I figured you should be the first one to make a move on.”

“Fair enough.” Dagmar slipped her fingers through Draco’s. “I feel a little silly when I look back at some of the things I was hung up on. The amount of days during our first trip in Bergen where I dickered on when and how to kiss you was ridiculous.”

“It was worth the wait. And I don’t mean that just in the cliché way that it was a nice snog. I mean in your ownership of our relationship. I’ve always known exactly where I stood with you, good or bad, so it makes me feel good when everything’s right between us.”

“I think because you put the physical pacing on me, it gave you some room to grow emotionally,” Dagmar said. “It’s sort of a cultural thing that men aren’t really like that. Sex is the man’s playground and the woman’s just along for the ride, but for emotional stuff, it’s the other way around.”

“It’s some sort of balance, I guess,” Draco shrugged, “but this is nicer. No room for resentment.”

“I agree.”

“Plus, it’s really hot to be with someone that isn’t afraid to tell you exactly what she wants.”

“I don’t feel shy or embarrassed about it at all.” Dagmar pushed the blanket a bit further down her waist to cool off. “I don’t think I could, when you’re so enthusiastic.”

“Mhm.” Smiling idly, Draco set his hand on one of her breasts. They shared a chuckle when Dagmar held it there.

“And then there are times like this when you’re the easiest man to please,” she said.

The two of them could spend Saturday in similar spirits, but the next day dawned with a serious edge of dejection. Since they would head to King’s Cross come morning, it was the Sunday to end all Sundays. Dagmar hadn’t realized how much she was sighing while packing her things at her manor house until Draco imitated her each time, more dramatically than the last.

She laughed. “Stop.”

Draco laid across her bed with his fingers folded behind his head. He cracked a grin, his chest rising before quickly falling with his biggest sigh yet.

Dagmar swatted him with one of her green and silver ties on the way to her trunk. “I have every right to be depressed today, and I refuse to believe you feel any better than me about tomorrow.”

“No, but I’m at least having fun annoying you.”

“Might as well get it all out of your system now, I guess.”

Dagmar regretted saying that as soon as the last word left her mouth. Sure enough, the glint in Draco’s eye faded, followed quickly by his grin. Dagmar hadn’t realized how much he carried the mood of the room until both of them stewed in dread-laced silence.

A knock came at her bedroom door before it was pushed open from where it sat slightly ajar. Dagmar poked her head out of her closet as her parents’ voices followed.

“We came to say goodbye,” her mum said. “Last time, ah?”

Dagmar returned her hug tightly. Although she would miss her parents, she was partially relieved that she’d made it through the summer without being dragged any further into their business. “Last time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want us to come see you off tomorrow?” her mum asked.

“Nei, it’s okay. Draco and I are just going to apparate,” Dagmar replied. It was only a half-truth. After the summer they’d had, she was paranoid that certain students with an in at the Ministry might be more aware of who her parents were than she was comfortable with. “I don’t want to cry on the station. Shows weakness, you know?”

Her mum laughed weakly near Dagmar’s ear. A shift from joviality to seriousness made Dagmar frown, and she stiffened as her mum’s arms tightened again.

“You made us proud,” she whispered in Norwegian. “Farewell.”

Dagmar pulled away from her, but she didn’t have the chance to ask for elaboration. Her dad had finished clapping an upright Draco on the back and was moving over to do the same to Dagmar during a similarly tight hug.

“Take care of yourself,” he told her, not bothering to lower his voice or switch languages. “Study hard, and be good.”

Dagmar managed a smile. “I will.”

The two of them left. Dagmar’s brow fell back into a furrow and she scratched idly at her collar bone while studying the bedroom door.

Draco resumed his supine position. “All right?”

“Ja. . .” she replied. “Did they say anything to you?”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugged. “Same as you. Behave, crack a book at least once.”

Dagmar snorted. “Are you going to?”

“Of course.”

That he looked indignant at the question drew Dagmar over. She sat down in the small gap between his hips and the bed’s edge.

“I’m just teasing,” she told him. “I know you will.”

Draco grunted, lips pursed. His gaze darted downward when Dagmar laid a hand on his abdomen.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “I didn’t mean to kill your good mood.”

“I’m trying really hard not to think about what tomorrow might bring,” Draco replied. “I only wanted to cheer you up.”

“I know.”

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hip before standing. Intent for the closet, she didn’t have time to comprehend the flurry of noise behind her before arms closed around her waist and her balance was offset. A cry of surprise ended with a grunt as her back found the bed. Her knees splayed over Draco’s thighs, and the blatant expression of satisfaction on his face made her scoff.

“You could’ve warned me,” she said.

“No fun.”

His smirk graduated to an amused grin as Dagmar tried fruitlessly to suppress a laugh. She pulled her legs over Draco’s so that she could lay flush with him. One of them wound up back in the dip of his waist as she tried to get as close as possible. Draco’s fingertips ghosting up the back of her thigh trailed warmth along with them.

She broke their kiss with difficulty. “Let me finish up, and then we can head back to your place. I’m just about done.”

“Okay.”

They hadn’t gotten too carried away, but going through these motions enough times the past few weeks created promises of what was to come. Draco’s gaze hooded as Dagmar briefly straddled him while rolling over his hips. She couldn’t help but stop long enough for another kiss, which was sufficient time for Draco’s hands to travel up her thighs and over her backside to a familiar place in her waist. The temptation to remain there was high, but Dagmar would have to get up either way in order to fully shut her bedroom door. She thought about it, but then steered herself toward the closet for her last few items.

Dagmar hadn’t even set her school trunk down in Draco’s room before he started. Hands roamed up the front of her shirt from behind, while a mouth worked her neck.

Draco was bent toward the idea Dagmar had unintentionally suggested earlier. She was still a little clumsy at joining their bodies together while straddling him, but it was worth it once they crossed that hurdle. Dagmar could hardly stand the look on Draco’s face as he watched her get comfortable, and then find a rhythm. It didn’t take long for her leg muscles to protest, but Dagmar could usually put it off if she used the headboard as leverage. She would rather put her hands to use elsewhere if she could, running them over Draco’s chest or following his over hers.

There was a certain way Draco could thrust upward that angled him into Dagmar’s g-spot, but this wasn’t a position she managed to cum yet from that alone. She still needed help, and while Draco’s thumb between her legs could do the trick, it was worth doing it herself for how much it turned Draco on.

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position so that he could mouth her breasts. Dagmar tilted his chin upward when she got close. She still couldn’t quite get a grip on how much noise she made, so she opted to let it be muffled against Draco’s lips rather than be embarrassed about it.

She cried out anyway in surprise when Draco flipped her down onto her back. That she gasped to be filled up again seemed to encourage Draco as he pressed her into the bed. So too did Dagmar wrapping her legs around him, her fingernails scratching lightly at his shoulders. As soon as his ear was close enough to catch her whispers, she started talking.

Not that Dagmar would ever tell Draco, but most of the Norwegian she spoke in bed was meaningless. The sounds were what affected him. Draco liked the more guttural sounds for their apparent filthiness, although Dagmar had felt gooseflesh spread across his back once before thanks to a well-placed trill.

For the Norwegian that _did_ have meaning, because Dagmar was essentially talking to herself in the room, she was more comfortable taking liberties than in English. She liked the idea that it would be some sort of reward for Draco learning the language. Dagmar was pretty sure Draco had already figured out the meaning for _knulle meg_.

He certainly obliged as he neared the end. Dagmar almost winced from how roughly his hips collided with hers, but knowing how much he enjoyed himself made it a good kind of hurt. He moaned against her shoulder, breaking rhythm to push himself as deep as he could go inside her with each beat of his orgasm. Dagmar stroked his hair and back. Even though she never wanted kids and religiously took her Natalise Potion every morning to prevent it, there was no denying just how hot it was when Draco lost himself to the most carnal demand of his body.

Dagmar foiled it with the gentlest touches she could muster while he panted, all strength gone. She trailed soft kisses up Draco’s cheek and temple, ending at his forehead.

He needed a minute to come back to himself. Eventually, his breathing evened out and Dagmar could no longer feel his heart beating through his back. Draco’s face remained the epitome of peace. Endeared, Dagmar verged on staring. His eyelids fluttered open while she was looking, graduating her serene smile into a grin.

“I always wondered what exactly you were holding back,” she said.

Draco’s chuckle remained weak along with his muscles. “Too much?”

“Nei, I love it.”

Dagmar was glad that she’d packed before they had sex. She could continue to lay around after she put herself back together, while Draco had to drag himself through the motions of it. She was definitely glad to have made herself decent when a knock came at the bedroom door.

Draco headed over to open it. Dagmar continued mindlessly petting a sleeping Heimdall. The cat’s eyes cracked open at the addition of a new voice.

“Are you nearly packed?” Lucius asked Draco.

“Getting there.” Draco shrugged. “Making sure I don’t forget anything.”

Lucius nodded again, his focus volleying over to Dagmar. “Could I borrow you for a minute?”

“Oh—sure.”

Lazy as Dagmar felt, she wasn’t exactly doing anything important. She resituated Heimdall, since he refused to budge on his own. Dagmar ran a hand down Draco’s arm when she passed him by. “Be right back.”

Lucius waited in the hallway between Draco’s bedroom door and the foyer stairs. He led Dagmar down, and took a left into the library. A few weeks had passed since they were last in here, and the entire fallout of Dagmar’s run-in with French authority had slipped her mind. She couldn’t think of anything else left to touch base upon with it.

Dagmar slowed as Lucius passed through the second library door to the hallway beyond. He came to a stop outside his drawing room. Dagmar’s heart sunk past her stomach at the way Lucius studied her. It was somewhere between his usual passive expression and. . .concern, maybe? Dagmar couldn’t read him as well as she wished she could.

Lucius cleared his throat. “He wishes to see you.”

Were it not that Dagmar’s heart pounded uncomfortably against the inside of her ribcage, she might have suspected it had left her forever. “Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, I’m sure.”

Dagmar took that to mean he had a pretty good idea, as did she. Was this really where her foolish use of an ancient curse had led her? And why? What interest was that to You-Know-Who?

Lucius approached Dagmar where she stood rooted to the spot next to one of the library chairs. With an exhale, he rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Answer truthfully any questions that he asks,” Lucius told her. “He’ll know if you’re lying. Keep your shoulders up and your gaze down. If he tells you to do anything, you’re best to obey.”

“I. . .”

Dagmar was at a loss for words. Barely three minutes ago, she’d been relaxing on Draco’s bed and eyeing his bum every time he bent over his trunk. She’d thought after she said goodbye to her parents that she was in the clear. What could You-Know-Who want at nearly the last moment before Dagmar was out of his reach?

“I can’t.” Dagmar managed to find her voice. “I can’t possibly go in there.”

“You have to.”

“Can’t you—isn’t there anything you could do?”

Lucius pressed his lips together, his own gaze falling away from her. Maybe he’d tried, or maybe he was just more impervious to her pleading than Draco was. He squeezed Dagmar’s shoulder, but it was far from comforting.

“Don’t dawdle, now,” he said.

Dagmar rooted where she stood, as if her feet had legitimately planted themselves. Mr. Malfoy encouraged her on with a hand between her shoulder blades, and Dagmar couldn’t help but feel like a lamb on the way to slaughter. She wanted to believe that Mr. Malfoy wouldn’t have allowed this meeting to happen if it might be dangerous. Did her parents even know about it?

Mr. Malfoy opened the drawing room door. Cool air passed through Dagmar not dissimilarly to a ghost at Hogwarts. For as bright as the rest of the manor house was, the drawing room somehow managed not to share in that trait. The windows did nothing, as if the gardens outside were merely painted on the wall as illusions.

Dagmar jumped when Mr. Malfoy spoke beside her. “My Lord?”

A high voice replied from somewhere further in. “Leave us.”

Mr. Malfoy squeezed Dagmar’s shoulder again before his footsteps carried him to the door. He was gone, then. Dagmar remembered what Mr. Malfoy had said about keeping her gaze down, not that she wanted to look at You-Know-Who if she could absolutely help it. Her hearing seemed to sharpen while trying to find him in the room, for she could feel him the same way a gazelle might sense a lion.

A sliding sound cut the silence. Dagmar caught movement out the corner of her eye. As her vision adjusted to the new level of darkness, she saw a massive snake slithering across the floor against the wall opposite the windows.

“Is it true?” a hissed voice emerged from it. “Does she understand us?”

“Hush, Nagini,” You-Know-Who replied using the same sounds before returning to English. “Come more into the light.”

Although she didn’t really know what light he spoke of, Dagmar took a couple shaky steps forward. A sound similar to Nagini’s movement started moving toward her. The bottom of black robes edged in at the top of Dagmar’s vision. Dagmar tucked her chin to her chest to help avoid seeing You-Know-Who—to avoid knowing that he stood so close to her.

“Look me in the eyes.”

The angle of Dagmar’s neck made it hard to swallow. She held her hands together in front of her in hopes of hiding how much they trembled. She didn’t want to look at him, not just out of fear but an emerging anger from somewhere near her stomach. You-Know-Who had robbed her of a normal life. He’d ensnared her parents. Dagmar had no idea what end that would earn them, but she anticipated she’d be burying one or both earlier than she should have to.

Could You-Know-Who see that? Dagmar thought about Mr. Malfoy’s warning, that You-Know-Who would know if she lied to him. Did that mean he practiced Legilimency? Just in case, Dagmar did her best to hush all the emotions within her. She cleared her mind before she dared raise her gaze.

His appearance nearly compromised that effort as a mix of disgust and horror threatened to offset Dagmar’s emotional quietude. She’d heard stories through the devil’s snare that You-Know-Who didn’t look human anymore. His skin was paler than a skeleton, and clung to his skull as if he was one. That he had two slits in place of a nose didn’t help the illusion. Scarlet eyes looked back at Dagmar, and as soon as she met their gaze, a prying sensation started at her mind. The edge of Dagmar’s vision crowded black, but she managed to hold it.

A corner of You-Know-Who’s lipless mouth lifted in amusement. “You’ve learned Occlumency, have you? Lower your guard, child. Let Lord Voldemort see.”

Dagmar hesitated, but she didn’t know what resistance she could honestly show. She stood barefoot in front of him in shorts and a tee shirt, with her wand useless to her up in Draco’s bedroom. She didn’t doubt, even if Dagmar’s parents were amongst his most loyal followers, that he would kill her on the spot for merely disobeying him. Then again, what would be the consequence if You-Know-Who knew she didn’t believe in his cause, and that she resented him for shattering her childhood?

The ugly way his face started to fall toward a darker mood compelled Dagmar to do what she had to. She had to get back to Draco. She could never hurt him that way if she died at You-Know-Who’s hands or, worse, just disappeared. Dagmar lowered her guard gradually, the prying feeling getting worse.

She focused so much on hiding her feelings about him that other things were left vulnerable. Marc’s face appeared in her mind, or at least the last of it that Dagmar had seen before she used the Heafonfýr Curse on him. When Dagmar tried to group that into the things she hid, You-Know-Who already moved on. In her mind’s eye, Dagmar stood briefly in the house of her recurring nightmares. You-Know-Who moved on again, this time to a bright flash of green. With utter panic, Dagmar clamped right down again on letting You-Know-Who see anything at all.

His face appeared again in front of her. He narrowed his eyes, Dagmar figured in annoyance that she shut him out hardly any sooner than he’d wormed in, but the prying sensation eased off. Dagmar dropped her gaze again somewhere between their feet, suddenly sick. The final one was a memory she had worked to repress since March, opting to make the story she told everyone else the truth in her mind as well.

“Who did you use the Killing Curse on?” You-Know-Who asked.

Dagmar clenched her eyes shut. They burned with shame, and she would be mortified if she showed that. Dagmar had struggled with the need to tell someone—anyone—since it had happened. She’d come close a couple times to telling Draco, but somehow she knew that he would never look at her the same way, especially now that they had Heimdall. It didn’t matter why she had done it, the method was the same used to end countless lives in this war brought down upon the wizarding world.

“My cat,” she whispered.

Her eyes blurred with tears she refused to shed. Dagmar hated most of all this new silence between herself and You-Know-Who for, while he said nothing, she had the abject sense of something she expected nobody to ever offer in the situation: understanding.

“You ended his suffering,” You-Know-Who filled in the blanks.

Dagmar nodded jerkily. “He had lumps all over his body. He was going to die, but it was going too slowly. I thought. . .”

She’d done it out of compassion, but it was still one of the worst moments of Dagmar’s life. Grim had thought they were only going for an evening walk into the Forbidden Forest. The expression of acceptance on his little face when Dagmar turned her wand on him hardly made her feel any better. She’d still had to handle the body herself afterward, transfiguring it into something easier to bury than a fifteen-pound animal. The absolute shock of having done it quickly turned the night’s events surreal. That made it easier to pretend it never happened, that Grim had just wandered off on his own.

“Who would make you feel ashamed of such a thing?” You-Know-Who asked, his high voice silky as he moved away from Dagmar. “Sometimes the best thing we can do for the creatures we have charge over is to give them relief.”

Dagmar’s gaze lifted, elevated by renewed fury brewing in her stomach. He would dare use how Grim died as a way to justify all the creatures _he_ relieved, that he believed himself to reign over?

“That house I saw.” You-Know-Who stopped walking. “Do you know where it is?”

“Nei.”

He turned to face her again, Dagmar’s gaze returning to the floor before he had a chance to catch her loathing glare.

“You’re perhaps wondering why I wished to see you,” he said. “You’ve created some extra legwork for me this summer—not that I hold it against you. There are very few Ministries I’ve had run-ins with that appreciate young talent when it’s a variety they disapprove of. My own sources at the Ministry confirmed that Paris passed along what happened in Nice. Do you know the head of the Auror department, Kingsley Shacklebolt?”

Dagmar shook her head. “I’ve heard his name, but I don’t personally know him.”

“I didn’t think so,” You-Know-Who replied. “So excessive, for someone that merely intended to defend herself. Why _was_ that the spell you chose?”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar hedged.

“No?” You-Know-Who sounded amused. “Another promising young witch lost to the idea that dark magic is inherently bad, it seems. I think you _do_ know why you used it, but you won’t admit it even to me, who would understand more than anyone else. That Muggle disrespected you, so you wanted to teach him a lesson.”

Dagmar pressed her lips together.

“Is that so terrible?” You-Know-Who asked. “Parents teach lessons to their children. Teachers do the same with their students. It’s too bad, really, that the French Ministry obliviated those Muggles before setting them loose again. They might have thought twice the next time they saw a young woman they wanted to follow down a dark street.”

Dagmar’s discomfort grew as You-Know-Who spoke. The things he said made sense logically, but she had to keep in mind the context that changed the meaning of some of it. The French Ministry came down hard on her, but perhaps that wouldn’t have been the case if they weren’t on such high alert because of You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. Marc disrespected her, yes, but Dagmar still maintained that she could’ve used a lesser spell to neutralize him. She didn’t have to go on the offence, and so brutally so.

“I’d like you to show me that curse,” You-Know-Who said.

Dagmar looked up. “It’s in a book that Mr. Malfoy owns.”

“I’m aware.” You-Know-Who waved a dismissive hand. “I want to see you use it.”

“I. . .” The random aches in Dagmar’s arm had lessened, but they had yet to fully abate. “It injured me.”

“So use your wand.”

“I didn’t bring it.”

The weight of You-Know-Who’s glare put Dagmar’s chin down again. Her nerves began to return. Could he force her? She would be far from the first person he used the Imperius Curse on.

His muted footsteps approached. Dagmar braced herself, but her eyes widened instead in astonishment when You-Know-Who held his own wand out. She looked up again, unable to believe that he was serious.

Dagmar had one more protest: “Here, though? In Mr. Malfoy’s manor?”

As predicted, You-Know-Who’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t so much in anger, but thought. He stowed his wand back into his robes, and extended the skeletal hand to Dagmar’s shoulder. She tensed with his touch, unsure about the fresh smirk he wore.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said.

The sensation of being pulled through a tight tube robbed the breath from Dagmar’s lungs. They came to a stop somewhere, but it didn’t seem to satisfy You-Know-Who. A couple more, and they’d arrived in a graveyard. Dagmar’s bare feet squelched against the wet ground, her hair already growing damp in the pouring rain. A cold wind picked up, and went right through her.

“Perfect,” You-Know-Who pulled up the hood of his robes. “If you’re talented enough to focus a Heafonfýr Curse while wandless and without lightning present, I’m curious to see what you could do in optimal conditions. Of course, I almost forgot. . .”

He extended his wand again. Dagmar didn’t see what choice she had but to take it. She had no idea where she was, and she sincerely doubted You-Know-Who would take her back to Malfoy Manor until she’d done what he said.

Dagmar’s hand closed around the base of You-Know-Who’s wand. A warmth spread from it up her arm, similar to how it felt to hold her own. There was power and heft to this one from years of use. Dagmar wondered, as she looked at it, just how many people had met their ends to this piece of yew.

You-Know-Who gave her some space, navigating between headstones. His voice wavered in the air due to the wind. “Well?”

Despite being away from Malfoy Manor, in a freezing-cold storm, and holding You-Know-Who’s personal wand in her hand, Dagmar couldn’t find the motivation in her to do as he’d requested.

Then again. . .she and You-Know-Who were alone in the middle of nowhere. He’d purposely disarmed himself, perhaps curious of her power but at the same time underestimating what she might choose to do instead of obey.

“Ah,” his voice carried over again. “There must be one more condition: you have to be in danger.”

Red light originated where You-Know-Who stood. Dagmar ducked behind the nearest gravestone as a streak whistled past. The gravestone it hit shattered, showering the nearby ground with bits of cement. Dagmar bolted, or tried to anyway, to put more distance between the two of them. She slipped on the wet ground, which might have actually saved her from getting hit by the next spell he threw at her. Dagmar sidled down behind another one, listening as the spells hit everything around her but not close enough to do more than scare her.

The last thing Dagmar expected to feel right now was annoyance. Ever since You-Know-Who had first opened his mouth earlier, all he’d done was try to manipulate her. Was that his grand strategy that had inspired so many witches and wizards to serve under him? How did they not see right through it all? Now that Dagmar had been in a room with You-Know-Who, had a conversation with him, and held his wand in her hand, she couldn’t see how an entire wizarding world had come to fear his very name. Who would he even be without his flock?

This was the person that had clipped her childhood short. He’d compromised Dagmar’s family life. He’d brought the Ministry down on their manor. He’d tried to use Dagmar’s compassion for her cancer-riddled cat to his advantage. He thought he could scare her now into doing what he wanted.

Dagmar stepped out from behind the gravestone she crouched behind, and started back toward Voldemort. That he looked so smug with himself contorted Dagmar’s anger with a twist of amusement. Surely, he would get exactly what he asked for.

She lifted the wand upward. Although she couldn’t see it yet, Dagmar could feel the energy coming like when she spawned the first spark that would ramp up to the full force of the Heafonfýr Curse. The next streak of lightning bent in the sky, drawn to her like a conduit. It hit the end of the wand and although the raw force of it collected in Dagmar’s body, she didn’t feel it like last time. It remained focused in the wand, which she lashed in Voldemort’s direction like a whip. As quickly as it had all come, the strength of the curse fled from her. The loud crack muted her yelled incantation.

Voldemort conjured some sort of block, but it wasn’t enough to completely deflect it. Dagmar was close enough to see his eyes widen underneath his hood as he lost his footing. He slid backwards in the mud.

All was still, except for the rain blown in erratic directions. Dagmar revelled in a deep sense of satisfaction. After all the trouble Voldemort had caused her, he deserved no less than to be knocked around a bit.

He wasn’t moving. Had she. . .? There was no possible way. She passed through the headstones to check him.

Dagmar had almost reached him when he sat back up, his face contorted in rage. He lashed at her again with red light. It hit her square in the chest. The cloudy sky was the last thing Dagmar saw before her vision went black.


	31. King's Cross

Draco puttered away in his room, getting everything together that he meant to take with him tomorrow. Since Dagmar wasn’t back, he double-checked his packing. He moved his Firebolt from the corner by the balcony door to lay on top of his trunk. Draco wouldn’t forget it, but it was something to do to kill the time.

He wound up laying on the bed where Dagmar had been, idly petting Heimdall. What could his father have wanted that was taking so long? With a sigh, Draco got up and left his room. He headed down the foyer stairs, expecting to find them in the library or something. Since it was empty, Draco headed deeper into the manor house. He almost walked past the silent great room when he spotted his father out the corner of his eye. His father slowly paced by the fireplace, arms folded and his gaze on the nearest clock.

“Where’s Dagmar?” Draco asked.

His father’s head snapped in Draco’s direction. He quickly resumed a passive expression. “She should be along shortly.”

“She was supposed to be with you.” Draco grew leery. “Where is she? What’s she doing?”

The answer occurred to him on its own. Panic shot through Draco as he advanced on his father. “She’s in there with _him_ , isn’t she?”

“Draco,” his father replied in that airy tone Draco had come to hate, for he despised being talked down to like a child. “Go back upstairs.”

The consequences be damned. Draco took a hard right toward the drawing room, dodging his father’s swinging reach. He doubled his speed when his father came right behind him.

“Draco!” He raised his voice. “Don’t you dare go in there!”

Draco didn’t actually expect the door to be unlocked. That was good, though, because if he wasn’t able to duck inside of the room, he was sure his father would’ve grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. Draco’s relief was short-lived, for he had no idea what he would actually do once he was here. Tell the Dark Lord to sod off? Stand beside Dagmar as she got whatever the Dark Lord had summoned her here for?

None of it, it would seem. The room was empty.

“Where are they?” Draco asked.

His father couldn’t answer his question. He looked around, just as unsure as Draco. Draco’s confusion quickly turned to anger.

“You mean you brought her here with no idea of what he planned to do?” Draco snapped at him. “They could be a thousand miles from here. She could be hurt, or worse.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” His father sneered. “He would do nothing of the sort to her.”

“Says who? You?” Draco shot back. “Just because you don’t have enough of a backbone to stand up to him, doesn’t mean that—”

Draco heard himself grunt more than he was aware of actually doing it. Splitting pain started near his left eye. He clenched it shut. Stars erupted behind the lid as he clutched his face.

His father kept his cane aloft. “You would do best to hold your tongue. What would you know about the Dark Lord? Dagmar’s a child of some of his most loyal followers. You can’t imagine the sacrifices they’ve made to him. And you dare think he would betray them like that?”

“That’s not fair.” Draco’s eye watered incessantly. “I don’t know anything at all, and I never want to. You expect me to trust you? You didn’t know he was taking Dagmar anywhere either. You just won’t admit it because you don’t want to be wrong when I’m right.”

“It’s time for you to go.” Draco’s father clamped a tight hand on his upper arm and pulled him toward the door. “If you think _I’ve_ done you wrong, then you wouldn’t care in the least to find out what little mercy the Dark Lord may show.”

Draco resisted, attempting to pull himself free, but it didn’t matter. The atmosphere in the room turned stuffy and unbearable. Draco’s father stopped trying to remove him, his wide gaze fixed at the centre of the room. Although he knew exactly who stood there, Draco couldn’t help it. He looked too.

At first he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. There was a broad, low lump on the floor. Part of it rose and as it did, Draco saw a pale face underneath the hood. Deja vu deepened his terror, for he’d seen something like this before in the Forbidden Forest. Instead of a unicorn this time, the Dark Lord stooped over. . .

You-Know-Who disapparated, Draco’s father quickly after him. The loss in grip on Draco’s arm put him off his balance, and he stumbled sideways. He quickly corrected himself and dashed toward Dagmar’s still form, nauseous with fear and his heart beating out of his chest.

“No, no, no. . .” he whispered to himself. Draco dropped onto his knees beside Dagmar, and pulled her shoulder back onto his thighs. She was soaking wet, as if she’d been dropped into a lake. Her hair turned brown from all the mud in it. Her eyes were half-open.

Draco splayed a trembling hand over her chest. That it still moved up and down took the edge off his dread. “ _Rennervate._ ”

Dagmar’s pupils darted before she blinked. She tried to push herself upright, but faltered on a grimace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Draco reassured her, although he knew it certainly wasn’t. “Just relax. He’s gone.”

“Draco.” Her relief was as much in her voice as her expression. “Where are we?”

“My manor. The drawing room.” Draco looked her over. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?”

“Everything hurts.” Dagmar eased herself up into a sitting position anyway. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think.”

Draco’s trousers were damp where Dagmar had laid across them. Droplets of water hit the floor as he helped her to her feet. Draco put an arm around her waist to help her along.

How much time did they have before You-Know-Who and Draco’s father returned? They could come at any moment, and regardless of what Dagmar had just gone through, Draco cocked up royally. He’d denounced You-Know-Who to his father, as well as disobeyed him. His splitting headache made it hard to think, but it was clear what they had to do.

Draco steadied Dagmar on her feet when they reached his room. “We need to leave.”

“Now?” Dagmar asked.

“Yes, now.” Draco dipped into his closet. “Here’s some dry clothes. Get changed, and then we need to think about where we’re going until tomorrow.”

Although Dagmar shivered from cold, she still looked forlornly at Draco’s clothes.

“Dagmar, please,” Draco said. “Just do it.”

“I’m still going to be covered in mud.”

“We’ll figure that out.”

Draco grabbed his wand off the bedside table. A cleaning spell when Dagmar stood naked took care of most of it, spare a couple patches. Her hair fell flat without a proper washing, but it was at least the right colour and dry again.

Dagmar shrunk in Draco’s tee shirt and sweats. Draco couldn’t believe, after the day they’d had, that this was where it wound up.

Her expression fell as they looked at each other. “What happened to your face?”

“It’s nothing,” Draco said. “Now, where could we go?”

The train to Hogwarts wouldn’t leave for another fifteen hours. That wasn’t much time to hide out, and yet it might as well be a week. Draco wasn’t used at all to the idea that he had nowhere to go. He didn’t know anywhere in London that they could stay other than the Leaky Cauldron, and it would most likely be full the night before students departed.

“We could just go to the platform,” Dagmar suggested. “If it’s open, I mean. If we can get to Diagon Alley or the Grand Floo Junction, we could try apparating in.”

“If not. . .I guess the Muggles could put up with us in the other part of the station.” Draco loathed to say it. “Get your things. Let’s go.”

The two of them levitated their trunks, with Ulysses in his cage on top of Draco’s, and Heimdall in his basket on top of Dagmar’s. Thankfully, their animals were quiet and the manor house was still empty. Draco wiped his eyes furtively as he took the head. He would have at least liked a proper goodbye with his mum before he went back to school, and with how things were now, he had no idea when or maybe even _if_ he would see her again. A lump rose in his throat. That was all he’d let himself feel for the moment. Draco needed to ensure that he and Dagmar were safe first.

“You go ahead,” Draco told her. “I’ll see you in London.”

Dagmar nodded and passed him by. She disappeared in the emerald flames. They turned briefly orange again before Draco threw more floo powder in. He hesitated, looking around the great room. Just like with his mum, he didn’t know if he would ever see the manor again.

Draco stepped out into London’s Grand Floo Junction. He wished he and Dagmar were seeing it again under better circumstances. Draco slipped a hand into hers. He focused his mind completely on the train platform and exhaled in relief when that was where they stood after opening his eyes again.

The scarlet engine sat silent, as it probably had since they’d come back from Hogwarts in June. Draco and Dagmar were the only people around, or so Draco thought. As they approached the train to see if any of the doors were unlocked, one slid open.

The witch that usually ran the trolley looked down at them with soft eyes. “Nowhere else to go?”

“Er. . .” Draco wasn’t sure how to answer, too proud to confirm her assumption.

“There’s always a couple.” The witch smiled. “Bad home, no home, no money. . .you name it. Come on aboard. Would you like some tea?”

“Maybe in a little while.”

Draco was more concerned right now with getting situated. He sincerely hoped that Death Eaters wouldn’t be stupid enough to come looking for them here. Then again. . .their parents might. Draco supposed if they did, it wasn’t as if any of them could do anything. They couldn’t drag them off without it looking suspicious. They couldn’t force Draco and Dagmar to do anything anymore.

He chose a compartment on the station side. If their parents came, Draco wanted to see them. He and Dagmar might have a chance to hide with a heads up. Draco also closed the compartment’s blinds.

Dagmar took a seat next to the window. Leaned back limply, she stared at the opposite wall with a long face and vacant gaze. She looked about as shocked by tonight’s events as Draco felt.

He sat down next to her, unsure what even to say. His fingers twitched when something brushed against them, but it was just Dagmar’s. Draco entwined them together, squeezing tightly when they were properly fit.

“Can I ask what happened?” he hesitantly said.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Dagmar’s eyes shone even in the minimal light coming in from the platform. “What about you?”

“Father,” Draco bit out before his shame could overrule it.

“He hit you?”

Draco’s gaze falling to his lap seemed to be enough confirmation for Dagmar. She turned more to face him on the bench, reaching out for his face. Draco tried not to grimace as she gently ran her thumb over where his eye started to swell. It hurt more to see how she looked at him.

“Herregud, Draco,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Right now, getting to Hogwarts is the only thing I’m worried about.”

“One thing at a time, I guess.”

Draco nodded. There was no point thinking past tonight just yet. If they could make it to eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, they would have until June to figure things out.

A sudden thought occurred to Draco. He opened up his trunk and rifled around in the hold for the documents he’d packed. One of them was his Gringotts slip from when his parents had opened up his inheritance account.

He sighed in relief after reading it over. “My name’s the only one on here. What about yours?”

Dagmar checked, then nodded. “We might never get another deposit, but that’s okay. We’ll be fine. We always planned to do it all without their help anyway.”

Despite their situation, Draco was glad it was _their_ situation, not something he was facing alone. That made him feel marginally better. So long as they made it to Hogwarts, they could figure this all out. They had the resources. They had each other.

A knock came at the compartment door a short while later. Draco opened the door tentatively, then exhaled in relief when it was just the trolley witch.

“How about that tea?” she asked. “I also brought by some sweets and an ice pack. I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous.”

Draco’s attempt to smile ended with pressed lips, but the sentiment was there. “Thanks.”

Dagmar set her tea aside as soon as Draco handed it to her. She took the ice pack and gestured him closer. It felt nice against his eye.

“Did you want to try and get some sleep?” she asked.

“I was going to ask you the same,” Draco replied. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight.”

“Me neither.” Dagmar worked her lips in thought. “We should still try.”

“One of us should stay awake.”

Dagmar was fading faster by the time they finished their tea and had each managed a couple pumpkin pastries. She laid her head on Draco’s shoulder. Each reply of hers came slower and quieter than the last.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Draco suggested.

He grabbed his school jumper and robe out of his trunk so that Dagmar could use them as a pillow and blanket. She curled up under Draco’s robe, her nose nuzzled up against his abdomen, and only opened her eyes again when Heimdall crawled over her hip to make himself comfortable between her lap and the back of the bench. Her breathing soon evened out—Draco liked to think that his fingers running gently through her hair helped.

With Dagmar and Heimdall asleep, as well as Ulysses in his cage, Draco let out a long sigh and gazed out the window to watch the platform for signs of activity. It would be a long night.


End file.
